


Bastards and Broken Things

by Muze



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Actually a lot of Westerosi politics, Beware of long research rants of the author in the notes, Courtly intrigue, Eventual Romance, F/M, Falling In Love, Flying sphinxes, Grief/Mourning, Highgarden (ASoIaF), Hurt/Comfort, Lady Stoneheart gets a plot, Minor Character Death, Pawn to player Sansa, Reach politics, Secret Identity, The Grand Northern Conspiracy, There be krakens, Wakes & Funerals, Weddings, battle of oldtown, cersei's trial, fAegon comes to westeros, ironborn invasion, lords declarant, margaery's trial, slowburn, some Tyrells die, winter has come, winter is coming
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-27
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:15:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 26
Words: 209,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23879020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Muze/pseuds/Muze
Summary: Struck by another bout of bad luck, Sansa Stark, still under the guise of Alayne Stone, must relocate once again, this time to the mighty castle of House Tyrell. With all other Tyrells still gone, it is supposed to be the safest place for her to hide, even if that means sharing a roof with the man she was supposed to marry once upon a time: Willas Tyrell.
Relationships: Alayne Stone/Willas Tyrell, Leonette Fossoway/ Garlan Tyrell (mentioned), Sansa Stark/Willas Tyrell
Comments: 437
Kudos: 418





	1. Ser Shadrich discovers a wolf in the bird nest

**Author's Note:**

> Contains spoilers relating to the released chapters from Winds of Winter. The fic includes all canon events and character descriptions up until WoW aside for Sansa's age and starts diverging from the day the Vale tourney starts in Alayne's pov.
> 
> A Sansa/Willas fanfic but Westerosi politics still play a large part in the story.
> 
> Also posting on my ffnet account ThornfieldHall.

In the year 298, Sansa Stark, aged Fourteen*, had believed her life was finally about to begin. She had left her cold homelands behind, and moved to the exciting and hot court in King's Landing, while engaged to the next king of the Seven Kingdoms. Life couldn't have been greater. Of all fourteen year old girls, she believed herself to be the luckiest, as a golden future awaited her.

After the first moon of the year 300 AC, Sansa Stark accepted a golden destiny was not in store for her. Two years of seeing your family members fall one by one, as you were tortured and ridiculed would see to that. And so she locked away her dreams and hopes of happiness in the same trunk with the cloak the Hound had left her, to remind her of the escape route she hadn't taken offered by one of the last persons who had looked out for her. It served as a reminder, although the meaning of that reminder changed every day. Sometimes, it was a reminder of what she'd lost, sometimes it was a reminder of her foolishness, and sometimes it was a reminder that she chose to remain and persevere as the last remaining Stark. She might not have anything left, but she existed, and as long as she existed, her family had not been defeated.

Once Joffrey's wedding came around though, the trunk definitely served as a reminder that she had let one chance of escape slip, and should not do so a second time. Because when your husband stands accused of kingslaying and kinslaying, there's no way you'll be able to continue on your merry little way. So this time when she was offered an out, she took it, and in exchange, she put her identity in the trunk of things she lost along the way.

She knew she was lucky to be alive. Although, alive could be debatable. Indeed, if Sansa Stark was alive, no one knew where she was, and she might as well be dead, for she hadn't been sighted in seven moons.

Instead, Alayne Stone lived in the Eyrie, living a life surrounded by friends, a doting father, a charge who declared to be in love with her, and an excellent future husband she had her sight on. Indeed, on the surface level, Alayne's life was the quiet peaceful life which Sansa had wanted ever since her illusions about life as a grand lady finally were shattered. And for the first time since Lord Eddard's death, she' felt alive again. But it wasn't _her_ life, although she very much liked to pretend it was. It was all a lie. And the lie didn't end with Sansa not being Alayne, the life was a lie from start to end, and the cracks were starting to show. Her doting father had married a lady only to increase his power, while he lusted after his pretend-daughter, whom he believed to be the reincarnation of the woman he had always loved but never gotten.

Her charge was actually her weak cousin, and he only fancied himself in love with her because she spoiled him and embraced his temper and foolishness even when she was annoyed as hell. And Harry the Heir was a narcissist and a philanderer who had already successfully sowed his wild oats twice. Even Alayne had no happy future with a good husband to look forward to.

If that future was ever to come. If her father's scheming would get the time to unfold.

But it didn't.

Winter had finally come for the Vale, and the time of peace, which had lasted abnormally long, came to an end.

Lord Baelish had hoped for five years of it, he got less than five months.

She'd spent a lot of time setting up the tourney, with no less than four-and-six competitors participating. All young and strong men of the Vale, ready to defend their Lord and show their skill, including Harry the Heir, who was as handsome as he was arrogant, and although she'd had bad experiences with blond-haired arrogant boys before, she'd complied with Littlefinger's wishes and had done exactly as he said during the feast. And at the end of the night, she had managed to lure a statement from him, showing he didn't completely detest the idea of a marriage to her.

_"Should we ever wed, you'll have to send Saffron back to her father. I'll be all the spice you'll want."_

_The handsome blond had grinned. "I will hold you to that promise, my lady. Until that day, may I wear your favor in the tourney?"_

_"You may not. It is promised to… another."_ She had been certain she would find someone, but she never needed to.

The Wild Mouse might look silly, but he certainly wasn't. Before the morning was over, he'd sent at least five ravens with the message he'd found Sansa Stark, although he wasn't so foolish as the mention the exact location or the alias she now had. Not trusting the ravens to fly freely, he also paid hefty coin for some letters to be carried by some farmers and merchants who travelled between the Gates of the Moon and the King's Road. If only one could make it to Lord Varys, he would be happy.

He spent the rest of the day in the melee, trying not to stand out, yet defeating all who dared pick up a fight with him. He had not lied, when he'd told Alayne the previous day: _"A good melee is all a hedge knight can hope for, unless he stumbles on a bag of dragons. And that's not likely, is it?"_

When the sun began to set, he decided it was clear to all present that he had come to participate, and had successfully shielded his true purpose. Leaving the melee under the guise of wanting to bathe and relax before dinner, he set out to find the pretty faced maid with the false name.

He found her in a state of panic, running through the halls with a doll in her hands.

'Lady Stone', he greeted her with a flourish. She froze, drawing up to her full incredible height. He barely reached her bosom. No child of Petyr's could ever grow that tall, a child with Northern and Riverland blood though, could.

'I apologize, Ser Shadrich, I'm quite indisposed at the moment.'

'With… dolls? Aren't you a little bit old for that? What are you, eight-and-ten?'

'Six', she admitted stiff-lipped. 'It's for our sweet Lord Robin.'

'I didn't know our eight year old lord played with dolls.'

'Our Lord may grow strong yet, but let us not pretend he is stronger than he is. He is but a young boy who lost both his parents at a young age, he deserves tiny comforts such as dolls when he isn't feeling too well. He is a child.'

'Does he not feel well? I am sorry to hear.'

Her lip didn't waver as she gazed at him coolly. He did not have a high status nor impressing physique, yet, to have his gaze met so directly, by a girl so young was unique. A girl raised by septa's in isolation would not be able to look him in the eye like this, but then again, that story was a lie.

'Lord Robin wished to be strong yesterday, and witness the festivities, unfortunately, the medicine took its revenge this morning. He will be right as rain in no time, have no fear', she smiled sweetly.

All sweet smiles, slipping him just enough information to appear to be open, but carefully watching her tongue.

'I am glad to hear.'

'Did you have any luck in the melee, today, ser?' she asked, impatiently looking over his shoulder in the direction she'd been running before he interrupted her.

'I did. You know, I was always quite good with a sword and an axe on the battlefield.'

'You fought on a battlefield?' she asked in surprise.

Her face told nothing, but he could see her throat bobble.

'Many, although most were during Robert's Rebellion. The last one didn't turn out the way I liked really, chose the wrong side and had to pay a ransom for my freedom. It quite ruined me.'

'With five kings, there were many wrong sides to be on', she said gravely.

'Stannis Baratheon's side was one of them.' This did get a reaction out of her. She blinked dazedly, before looking down at her hands. Realizing her slip up, she started toying with the doll as if she'd simply grown distracted.

'It has been proven old King Robert's brothers were not destined for the crown. Almost all other kings have fallen as well. Only the one destined to have it shall remain, The Vale shall remain loyal to the true king Tommen. I am happy that the loyal support of house Arryn to House Baratheon has ensured the stability and peace our region still enjoys.'

'Sure thing. If I could change things around, I'd pick the blond Baratheon any day. But I doubt he'd have me now. I'm very grateful your Lord Father hired me. Indeed, a great many men who chose wrong sides like me now find themselves sell swords, hedge knights and bandits. '

A blond Baratheon was just as ridiculous as a female bastard with the looks of a Tully living in the household of the deceased Lysa Tully, when princess Sansa had disappeared.

'That explains the bag of gold comment of yesterday,' she smiled, 'I've ensured prizes for all winners. The melee prize won't be as large as the one for the main tournament, but all tiny bits help, don't they?'

'They do. I'll take anything I can get, basically the motto of every hedge knight', he smiled.

The young woman nodded elegantly.

'You know what many of those unfortunate souls I've had the pleasure and displeasure of meeting on my way here are occupying themselves with?' he asked, finally deciding to push her.

The girl shook her head.

'I have not met many people in my life, I'm afraid, I know little, and even less of the figures one finds along the Kingsroad.'

'Many men have a price on their heads, dead or alive. But sometimes, there's the occasional woman who is sought for, the cases are rare, since important women rarely manage to disappear or travel alone. So when they do, and when a price is put up, many desperate souls decide to look. They all think a woman is a great deal easier to find, since few women travel during these times of war, and when they do they travel in large groups. So to spot a travelling lady, especially one who is claimed to have a very unique look, is supposed to be fairly easy. And there are few places where highborn ladies would consider hiding. A great many men flee to the Free Cities, hide in brothels, or pretend to be farmers, ladies can't, unless they marry. Because ladies don't live alone. Although, one could always join the silent sisters.'

He threw her a look, she had stopped playing with the doll, and was now clutching it tightly.

'It's silly, really. There are few noble women in Westeros as it is, I don't know why so many are so stupid as to thing that such a precious possession would be transported with anything less than the utmost care', he laughed.

The lady smiled and shook her shoulders.

'It indeed seems silly. Although one can't blame them, highborn ladies do love luxury, and women aren't really made for travel. I was so tired and sore the entire travel to the Eyrie when my father finally retrieved me', she sighed.

'And he transported me with all the comfort he could afford. Indeed, had anyone been on the look-out for us, they could not have missed us. But if I was sore and tired while travelling the fancy way, I cannot imagine how a dainty lady must feel travelling in a lowkey manner. They would hate it. Leave it to men to think we are all so fragile and vain we would not sacrifice some comfort for our safety. I cannot blame those men for thinking in such a way, but then I can't blame men for being born stupid', she laughed heartily.

'Of course, I know little noble ladies, perhaps they are right?'

'It would seem they are not right, since a lady by the name of Sansa Stark has managed to disappear for seven months without being found. Unless she's hiding somewhere inside the city of King's Landing, she must have travelled in a very inconspicuous manner. The spider believes her to be alive in any case, he's promised a plump bag of gold for whoever finds her.'

The lady laughed heartily.

'Oh, my, you are amusing indeed, Ser Shadrich. You come here now, intent on ridiculing the desperate souls searching for Sansa Stark in hopes of earning some money, but you are one of them, are you not, if you are, as you say, in search for a bag of gold?'

'I said "Unless I stumble upon a bag of dragons", indicating that I don't expect to. A man can hope, can he not, though I shall not waste my time searching, when there's money to be made here. I just keep an eye out for her, like any sane man would.'

Once again, he could notice her swallowing, but she shook her head laughing.

'Yes indeed, you are smarter than the lot of them. At least here you shall have a roof over your head and an income, which they won't have as long as they're chasing her. Seven months is an awfully long time to disappear is it not? Did not her little sister also disappear some years ago? Surely, if she lived, there would have been word of her by now. It is unfortunate, but I can't help but believe all Starks are dead. Lady Lysa talked about her cousins from time to time, she could not help but worry for them, even though she knew she could not help them, as they were all traitors. She had a good heart.'

'I wish I could have met her', he said quietly. He knew it was bold to try his luck, but he was too curious not to speak to her. She had chosen her spot well, he would not manage to get her out of the Gates of the Moon alone, or even with a dozen men, or an army even. This mountain range was the safest spot where she could be.

'My lady, I'll let you go to our good lord, I apologize for keeping you, I'll go bathe now, maybe I'll see you the next few days.'

'Yes, you surely shall, ser. Until then', she curtsied before leaving.

.

.

.

There would be no next meeting, he packed his bags as soon as he could, and left the castle amidst the flurry of activity. That money would be of no use to him if he was dead. He would think about a way to retrieve her from a safe place.

Littlefinger's plans were crumbling. He had been increasing Sweetrobin's dose of medicine, but did not want the little lord dead until Sansa was married, which she could not do until her previous husband was declared dead. If Robin died before that point in time, Harrold would become the new Lord of the Vale way too soon. He was old enough to rule, and had no loyalty to Lord Baelish. He could not become a lord until he was married to Sansa, who would guarantee his loyalty out of gratitude, since Lord Baelish had been the one to save her from King's Landing and had been the one to marry her to a handsome heir to ensure she could reclaim her birth right.

Now all his plans were jeopardized, or at least partially postponed. He had tried to keep an overview of all letters leaving the castle, but as everyone was sending letters recounting experiences at the tournament and anecdotes of the feast, it had been a mad house. He couldn't make the guests suspicious by keeping the ravens in until all correspondence was read, so he let his little spies check every so many letters. Still, it had taken them until the evening to intercept the dangerous letter, and this report to him was accompanied by the message that other letters by the same sender had left that day.

There were only three people who'd known about Sansa's identity as Alayne, one of them was dead, the other was he himself, and the third one was the girl herself. Yet this man had come in and guessed correctly that Alayne Stone was in fact Sansa Stark.

_"I, Ser Shadrich of the Shady Glen, hereby declare to have found Sansa Stark in the South, at an undisclosed location which I shall keep to myself. I demand at least half the price in advance if I am to capture her alone, or the full price afterwards with your support, since her retrieval shall prove most difficult._

_Your loyal servant of the realm,_

_16th day of the fifth moon, 300 AC"_

The girl herself came to him not long after, telling him about her conversation with him. However, as Sweetrobin had needed her, and it was impossible to be kidnapped from the fortified castle, she had simply tried to discourage Ser Shadrich's beliefs and continued her business as usual so as to not rouse suspicion. Littlefinger confirmed that the man had already known who she was before the conversation even started, although both could not understand how he had found out about her. The only thing Sansa could imagine, was that he had seen her in King's Landing, as it was possible he had been one of those who had been captured during the Battle of Blackwater Bay. She had been the only redhaired noblewoman, and always stood out when she overlooked the throne room, but she had not paid attention to those in the throne room that day. He had been one of many, and she had been the famous Lady Stark.

He could put everything at risk: he could tell Varys about Littlefinger and about Sansa, their heads were on the line, and all of his plans could turn to dust.

Yet how could he send out his knights without rousing suspicion during a tourney? And how could he keep Sansa safe? Without Sansa present, no matter if the man came back with back-up, they were all saved. If the man could not prove Sansa's presence, he could have the man killed for accusing him of treason and conspiracy with enemies of the crown.

The man had to be found, and Sansa had to be hidden away in case he returned. The night was spent concocting plans. Alayne had become the de facto Lady of the Eyrie as his daughter, and the main caretaker of the future lord. She had prepared the tournament. Her disappearance could not be explained easily.

He tried to think of respectable ways to get her out. He wished he could send her away to serve as a Lady-in-waiting somewhere else, but if it was announced, all of the people present would know and talk about the beautiful young daughter of Lord Petyr Baelish departing for a specific destination they all knew, during a tourney she had prepared herself. Her link to him would be clear, the timing suspicious, and her destination known to all. It was like begging the hedge knight to find her, and it was bound to rouse suspicion when troupes of the king came by to check. There was no way to explain that he sent a young girl of the right age, with the same blue eyes and figure away, when they came to look for exactly such a girl.

Unless.

Unless he was merely acting like a strict father figure, and the sent-away daughter was sent away because of a scandal. A scandal that could not be publicly known, but was known to be a scandal by the public. Underneath the guise of a scandal, he could be allowed to send his daughter away quickly, and it would be understood if he did not disclose the location.

It could easily be done. Do some shouting in his study, not too loud but loud enough for a couple of voices to hear, pay a stable boy to disappear from the keep and point in his direction as a "suspected seducer", send his daughter away. The gossips who saw the stable boy run and heard the shouting, would put two and two together. Especially if he sent out some guards to catch the stable boy. That immediately solved his problem with Shadrich, since instead of searching for the stable boy, they could hunt him. A perfect plan.

But where to send her? She would not be safe in the Vale, all noble houses were all but abandoned since all the lords were here. And if he was really angry with his daughter, he would send her away from his lands. But whereto? He did not want to send her to war-torn lands. Nor to any place where she might be recognized. Nor could he send her to enemies of the crown. But then, the crown had few friends, as Cersei had even turned against the Tyrells. But then again, last time he heard both the old queen and the young queen were about to face trial, and Mace Tyrell had been appointed Hand of the King by Kevan Lannister. If a Lannister could still appoint a Tyrell, and Tommen was still married to one, no one in the capitol could blame one bannerman for sending their child to another. Margaery was arrested, Loras Tyrell was close to death near the Shield Islands according to the most recent reports, Mace Tyrell was in the capitol, Garlan Tyrell was off fighting somewhere and there had been no reports on the Queen of Thorns and Lady Leonette Tyrell leaving the capitol as far as he knew.

The Western waters of the reach were traitorous, but Highgarden would be a safe place where Sansa would be out of harm's way without having her identity exposed, as long as she maintained the cover of Alayne. And so, that night, an orchestrated shouting match between him and his daughter erupted, dramatized goodbyes were said to Sweetrobin, personal belongings were packed in haste. She had not been able to bring any of her lighter dresses with her from King's Landing, only the clothes she had on her body. And now her wardrobe existed of heavy Northern fabrics.

She took her brown dress with freshwater pearls, which would do fine for her arrival since although it had been her warmest dress which fit her in King's Landing, it was also the lightest dress she had in the Eyrie, although for her journey she wore one of her warm dark blue dresses Petyr had made for her. She felt for its pockets, and could still feel the hairnet stashed away. Perhaps it was not unwise to keep it. Stashing away all pieces of her aunt Lysa she could use, she finally stopped when her hands connected with a green cloak.

She hadn't touched it since she arrived. It had felt too personal.

It had belonged to another girl.

Another life.

And it told a tale of another future broken.

She unfolded the fabric on her bed, fingers tracing the carefully stitched hemline on the bottom which had been torn.

It would have been much too long had it been in its original form.

She had tried her best to clean it but some spots had remained and were still visible through the green dye the Tyrell cousins had gifted her during one of the afternoons they had spent doing needlework and talking over lemon cakes and honeyed wine.

Some stains you can't get rid of, she mused.

How fitting it would be that she would wear this cloak again. The cloak she'd worn when escaping from certain danger just like now, a cloak which had been left to her by the only one who had protected her from the vultures in King's Landing, and dyed in the colour of the House she would visit, provided to her by ladies of said House.

The hound had been strong, if she wore his cloak, perhaps she would have some of his strength.

She wondered where he was now, and if he was safe.

She had honestly believed she would never see Willas Tyrell after she had been married to Tyrion Lannister, yet now she was to go to his house. How fate twisted and turned.

Perhaps one day she would meet the Hound again too.

A horse awaited her when she ran outside, tears streaming down her face after she'd held an onion close to her eyes for a minute.

Baelish came to her then, as she mounted her horse.

'I hope this will give you some time to reflect. No daughter of mine should be so foolish! Perhaps I should have left you at that convent', he spat loud enough for some of the stable boys to hear.

'I couldn't help it', she cried.

'Father please.'

'Away with you!'

As she rode, accompanied by three of his men, she thought back on all Petyr had promised her.

_"So those are your gifts from me, my sweet Sansa... Harry, the Eyrie, and Winterfell."_

Would Harry still have her when all of this was over and she had returned? She'd been a bastard to begin with, and she had just committed the most horrible crime a bastard could do: she had lived up to the stereotypes. She had not been loyal to her family, she had been deceitful and lustful. Her carefully crafted position was in jeopardy.

Harry should not blame her, as he himself had slept with, had relationships and even children with two women now. But he had already blamed her for being a bastard, and was arrogant to boot. It would not be beyond him to be hypocritical and renounce her. However, now was not the time to think of that. Her life was more important than a marriage.

Her companions were silent, which was not surprising, considering one was a silent sister and two were personal guards thinking she had slept with a stable boy. Luckily, that mattered not, in the letter Littlefinger had sent House Tyrell, he had made no mention of the farce, and had merely stipulated that some of the noblemen participating in the tourney had taken offence to the presence of a bastard placed in plain sight, and that he had always intended for his daughter, who had not seen much of the world, to learn some useful skills in another royal household.

She knew not how the Tyrells would react. Indeed, she might even be sent home if they had no need nor place for her. With their daughter arrested in the capital, a son off at war, another close to death, and a threat of invasion on their south coast, they might look suspiciously at a never before talked about bastard daughter of Lord Baelish, of all people. She was bound to be looked at with suspicion.

No matter, she once again had no choice.

They reached Iron Oaks quickly, and from there she was put on a ship for the longest of time. Once upon a time, she had learned about all noble houses of Westeros, and though she had retained a lot, some things were starting to slip.

It had been years after all, she had not even been a woman flowered when she learned about it.

And so, because one could ever know enough, she used her time well, studying maps of the reach, and read history books about the region and its politics. She would only serve as a maid, but one never knew when a piece of information might come in handy. Lord Baelish had always instilled upon her she had to know her enemies, knowledge is power, he said. And she never wanted to be a fool again, like she had been when she first arrived at King's Landing.

At the Gillet they made sure to stay close to shore, because although Dragonstone had fallen a week ago, the waters were still dangerous. So it was only once they had passed Duskendale that they dared to cross the Blackwater Bay towards the Kingswood. The bay was still a ship cemetery full of driftwood, burned out ships stuck on cliffs and shoals, and floating bodies of dead men the tide had carried away from Dragonstone.

It made Sansa ill, and although her stomach had hardened in the past few years, she had retched when she saw a seagull flying down to pick at a dead man's remains. Luckily, the winds were with them, and the cold air easily blew them towards the Wendwater, from where the trip to Highgarden was relatively easily and peaceful.

Sansa was amazed to see the geography change, and tried to be on deck for at least two hours a day to commit all the differences to memory. From the steep grey snow-covered mountains and pines of the Vale, to the flat lands of King's Landing which had once been so green but were now reduced to mud with many houses and acres burned by war, to the mighty tall pines, oaks and rowans all rising from lush ferns and mosses.

It felt ancient and intimidating, yet at the same time peaceful, there were birds singing and she once even spotted a dear which had come to the river to drink. They raced through Felwood, as the woods had always been full of criminals, and were suspected to be even more dangerous than usual, with all potential deserters and scared villagers coming through from Storm's End.

For the longest time, Sansa thought there would be no end to the woods, they remained as dark and overcast as when they'd first sailed into them, and the spotting of dead bodies scared her severely. On top of it all, it had started raining, and there was nothing to be seen of the autumn flowers Margaery had once come plucking with her ladies. The rain slowed them down significantly, as it had turned the already bad roads to mud.

Once upon a time, it had been Summer for years on end, but now in just a matter of months, they appeared to be reaching the end of the autumn season. She had hoped with such a long summer, autumn would be equally long, however, that was not to be.

She was grateful to arrive at the Blueburn river after half a day's delay, and gratefully hopped on the boat to complete the last leg of her journey. Despite the rain, the lands still looked like Margaery had described them, although no words could ever do justice to the sight. The reach still had flowers, tall grasses, and fields full of vegetables. The landscape was a perfect agricultural patchwork, interrupted by towns made of both timber and stone. Tiny and bigger castles were dotted along the way, surrounded by orchards and grand gardens she could only see the contours of from her boat.

However, the signs of autumn were here as well, the glowing hills were overcast by clouds on most days, and harvest continued even through the rain, because the farmers were afraid their crops would rot if they did not harvest them sooner rather than later.

And then, first from far, she could distinguish a large grey structure on the horizon, situated atop of a hill. When the sun broke through the clouds at the end of day, the sun shone down and illuminated the walls and golden roofs of the towers.

It was just like the sketches she had seen. A mighty structure with three rings of heavy white stone whose walls increased with height, the layers clearly distinguishable by the green trees peeping out over the tops of the walls of every level. The towers drawn up during the Age of Heroes were square and low, while the newer were tall, providing a perfect look out at the surrounding planes and hills. Those fortifications were built during the Andal invasion, Sansa remembered. Alayne probably wasn't meant to know any of that, there was no reason the septa's would see fit to teach her such things.

She was in Highgarden at last, a year after she was supposed to come here.

She wished Sansa Stark could have seen these hills. If it were her exiting the boat instead of Alayne, she would have been welcomed by the common folk, and be received by Willas Tyrell himself as she was brought to the castle. Now she had to ride a tired old mare through circle after circle as she took in the brick houses, fountains, greenery, septs and the famed maze as she ascended the hill.

_"_ _We were speaking of my grandson Willas. He is a bit old for you, to be sure, but a dear boy for all that. Not the least bit oafish, and heir to_ _Highgarden_ _besides."_

_"_ _Willas has a bad leg but a good heart."_

_"_ _Gentle, pious, good-hearted Willas Tyrell. Be grateful you were spared, he would have bored you spitless."_

She wondered if she would see him while she was here, and discover for herself what kind of man she could have married, had the cards been dealt differently. No matter, she could only accept the cards life had dealt her. The only thing she could do now was decide for herself how to play the cards to their maximum potential.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- All ages are canon compliant, except for Sansa's, who is aged up to be sixteen at the start of the story, so it won't be classified as paedophilia according to the rules of asoiafrarepairstumblr. This will make her behaviour during all novels a little bit more foolish, since she's supposed to be older, so if you dislike that, you're still free to see her as a 13 year old about to turn 14 (fyi, she's supposed to turn 14 at the beginning of the 12th month of 300 AC, in this story she'll turn seventeen that day). Some historians (and I am one) point out that in some Medieval European countries the average age was around 14-17. So it's plausible.
> 
> \- I used the most precise full ASoIaF timeline there is, I can't link it but those that are interested can contact me, it's a google document available on the internet somewhere.
> 
> \- There is speculation the green cloak is in fact Sandor's Kingsguard cloak he left with her. She has coloured her own dresses before when they got stained (her own silk dress when Arya threw a blood orange at her). She's also been shown to be attached to the cloak, and to have been doing a lot of needlework. She also spent a lot of time with the Tyrells, there are others who support the theory that to keep the cloak without arousing suspicion in case anyone went through her stuff, she had both the skill to stitch the torn hemline from when Sandor tore it, and the time to rework the torn fabric into a hood. The colour green could have been chosen because for starters, Sandor is mentioned to have worn green and brown a lot, secondly she was at the time also thinking about Willas Tyrell, she's sentimental, so it could have definitely been her way to process the loss of Sandor and of her prospects of marrying Willas Tyrell. A last reason for the colour green could be that when you try to wash out blood stains, they may get a green shade, so covering it up with green would be just the most logical choice.
> 
> \- The last line is based on a quote by Voltaire "Each player must accept the cards life deals him or her; but once they are in hand, he or she alone must decide how to play the cards in order to win the game."
> 
> \- Travel Time:
> 
> Based on this reddit thread https://www.reddit.com/r/freefolk/comments/6rba7o/understanding_season_7_travel_times_a_timeline/
> 
> The distances between Highgarden and Kings Landing is supposed to be 900 miles, Olenna probably travels in royal style, so that means the trip should take them 75 days (2,5 months) if they are not delayed. Sansa will travel a lot faster, she doesn't have a royal caravan.
> 
> The Vale is said to officially begin at the Bloody Gate. The distance between the Bloody Gate and the sea is said to be 350 miles, that is the furthest point, I take it Iron oaks is about 80 miles removed from the Bloody Gate (rough estimate). From Iron Oaks to Runestone is about 135 miles by water. From there they'll go to a small harbour on the southside of Blackwater Bay, somewhere around the Kingswoods (a total of 270 miles by sea). They'll be avoiding the Rose Road to avoid armed troops, instead they take the Wendwater, and they'll follow that river, ride for a short while, and take the Blueburn river until Longtable. The distance between the mouth of the Wendwater and Blueburn is about 150 miles and the distance between the start of Blueburn river to Highgarden is 370 miles, of which about 30 miles by land. I calculated Sansa's journey will be 1005 miles, of which 110 miles by land and 895 by water.  
> Using the travel speeds on the first website I mentioned, adding in the changing of ships, some bad weather, it's going to be closer to 10 days of sea and river travel (rough estimated). Then there's 110 miles by land, Sansa will travel in a very small group, which will make her faster, however she isn't a trained rider nor can they afford to change their horses every so many miles, so her average distance by day shall be 24 miles. That comes down to 5 days of travel on the roads. Add to this the one day's travel it'll take to reach the Bloody Gate from the Eyrie, and you'll have a total of 16 days.
> 
> If they left on the same day, Sansa would reach Highgarden 59 before Olenna. However, they don't. Olenna leaves the day after Tommen and Margaery's wedding, on the 16th day of the second month, meaning she should arrive right at the beginning of the sixth month of the year 300 if she doesn't stop by some others houses of the Reach to do some political manoeuvring in the meantime, which she might very well do. Sansa leaves on the night of the 16th of the fifth month at the soonest. Meaning she should arrive around the same time Olenna does. Exciting isn't it?
> 
> \- Final note: I'm not intending for this fic to be very long, but I hope you enjoy nonetheless


	2. The mysterious cyvasse player

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alayne meets her fellow ladies-in-waiting and explores Highgarden. As she learns more about her current residence, she wonders when she shall finally learn something about Willas Tyrell, the heir and ghost of Highgarden.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The world's still a dreary place, so here's a nice lighthearted chapter. Enjoy :)
> 
> Also: in my story Alerie did not go to King's Landing at first. She took care of a couple of things in the Reach first. The purple wedding was planned anyways so she knew Joff would die. She arrived in King's Landing the day after the Purple Wedding and left together with Olenna shortly after Tywin's death. This means she would not have met Sansa.

Alayne only saw small parts of the castle Sansa Stark had been told so much about by Margaery. She was ushered in through a servant’s entrance near the kitchens. Which did provide her with a good view of the orangerie and potagerie, both looking just as beautiful as the decorative gardens she had seen while riding through the three circles of Highgarden.

Her guards were asked to hand in their weapons and Alayne’s letter was given to the main housemaid, who took her to an elegantly furbished room where she was asked to wait whilst Lady Tyrell was consulted. The style of the castle was like nothing she had seen before. This was what a true castle should look like, she decided. It was more elegant than the style of King’s Landing, which had been grand but less refined.

Margaery hadn’t talked about the architecture of Highgarden, and Alayne hadn’t wasted time on reading up on it herself, so she was completely unprepared to be amazed by the fan vaults springing from slender columns reaching towards the middle of the room. Roses and vines were hewn from stone and twisted around the arches, some were even painted. The whole room was a work of art, but even Sansa could see this was only a waiting room. She wondered how the rooms Margaery had grown up in looked.

 _“Everything is decorated with roses and flowers, the walls, the pillars, the soft bedsheets, the rose wood closets, you’ll love it Sansa. All the halls are light and airy, unlike some of the dark heavy tunnels they call halls over here”,_ she remembered Margaery saying.

Half an hour later, she was brought to yet another room, this time through the main hallways instead of the servant hallways. It appeared she had been promoted in status. Now she passed by columns with rose decorations against the wall on the one side, and intricately carved marble balustrades decorated with the Tyrell and Gardener coat of arms overlooking grand staircases on the other side. She was lead higher and higher, until she was shown into a solar with a surprising amount of white, grey and golden colours. The solar of Lady Tyrell.

‘Lady Alayne Stone, my lady’, the woman who had fetched her – Florianne Fossoway of Cider Hall, she remembered – announced.

‘Yes, thank you, Florianne, you may go.’

Anticipation and nervousness pooled in Alayne’s stomach. Sansa Stark had just narrowly avoided meeting this woman in King’s Landing. She knew Alerie Hightower had gone to King’s Landing for Lord Tywin’s funeral and King Tommen’s wedding to Margaery. If Lady Alerie had returned, had Lady Olenna returned too? They had not gotten the message that Tyrells had departed from King’s Landing.

A tall figure appeared from the terrace overlooking the castle and gardens. First, Alayne could only see her slim contours, before the lady herself entered the room.

The ladies curtsied and greeted one another.

‘Lady Stone, you travelled fast. Word of your coming arrived barely over a week ago.’

‘I was blessed with an easy journey, your ladyship. I hope my arrival has not been an inconvenience.’

‘An easy journey was your due, after the way you were treated. Baseborn or not. To have been sent away from the tourney you had organized, while Lord Baelish had openly accepted you as his natural born daughter, must have been heart-breaking.’

‘It was. I had been planning it for months, I was so excited. However, it matters not. I cannot blame people for disliking me, when they’ve all been raised to consider us shameful people who should be hidden away. They wished to see me removed from my very privileged position, and I did not want my father to have to fight with his bannerman over it. I would be most grateful if your ladyship took me in. I know it is most inconvenient, and that it was preposterous of me to come before an answer was given. I apologize’, Alayne apologized, keeping her head bent low and her voice insecure and sad. She would have to appear distressed, scared and innocent. The first two were not hard to manage.

This was supposedly her first trip outside of the Vale, and her first meeting with a Lady of a noble house which wasn’t her own.

The stunning woman gave a tired smile, before sitting down on a handsomely furbished throne of roses. Probably the seat she sat in whenever she received diplomatic guests.

‘The letter of your Lord Father arrived a day before my arrival. I only just arrived back home after having taken the faster travel route by water. I already sent back my reply. Your father has been a good friend to us these past few years. If we can help him by taking in his daughter, we shall gladly do so. What can you do, girl? What is your skillset?’

What could Alayne do? She should be better at handwork than Sansa, the septa’s would’ve learned her to prepare food and work in the gardens. But perhaps, she could play off some of Sansa’s skills as skills she had learned while in the Eyrie.

‘I can read, write, cook, clean, garden, entertain guests, and I’m quite good at needlework.’

‘Guests’, Lady Tyrell smiled with no small amount of amusement, raking a hand through her silver hair. There was no colour difference between the ends of her hair and the crown of her head, it must have always been a pale silver shade. A shade none of her children had gotten as far as she knew. Despite the silver hair, she still looked incredibly young, not yet forty. Was it not said that the Hightowers arrived before the first men? Perhaps, through their line and their marriages, some Valyrian traits had survived.

‘We shall have little guests. And we have few ladies you can wait upon. I left King’s Landing the day after my dear daughter’s wedding to King Tommen believing the peace would finally return to the realm. I was not even halfway home when I received letter that my son was injured at Dragonstone. I decided to quit the Roseroad and continue the trip by boat via the Mander. At Longtable I heard of my daughter’s arrest. By the time I arrived at Cider Hall, she had been released while awaiting trial together with her cousins. Now my husband is camping outside of King’s Landing and my second son is laying siege to Storm’s End. So with almost all my children gone, many of their cousins either off fighting battles, still residing in King’s Landing or accompanying my mother-in-law as she continues her way home via the Rose Road, the house is quite empty.’

She did tell Alayne a lot, but Lady Tyrell knew Alayne was Littlefinger’s daughter, an ally, and daughter of one of the most informed men in Westeros. These were commonly known facts she had no reason to hide. Sansa reasoned she told her this because she deemed the information unimportant enough to tell, but detailed enough to encourage trust.

‘Lady Olenna is on her way home?’ Alayne asked, shielding her panic. She thought she would be safe here, but Lady Olenna was growing deaf, not blind, and was incredibly smart. She would not last two days once Lady Olenna arrived.

‘Yes. She dislikes travelling by boat, so when we arrived at Bitterbridge she decided to continue by land while I took the river road. She won’t be home for a while yet as she makes stops at every noble house she comes across. You won’t be able to serve her. And I doubt you’ll want to. We give her our most experienced staff’, Lady Alerie smiled.

Margaery had her charm from her mother. She was all kind smiles and warm personality.

‘I am fine with working anywhere your ladyship wants me to work. I can learn.’

‘Lord Baelish means for you to be like a trueborn daughter of his. He trusted you with organizing an entire tourney, that’s a job for a lady of a noble house, so you’ll be needing a job befitting the station he intends you to have.’

Alayne blushed. She had tried to be humble, but Lady Alerie had already decided Alayne had more experiences and skills than she claimed.

‘I left my most trusted ladies with Margaery, I assumed she would need to be surrounded by a large group of ladies whose loyalty I could depend upon. This means I have need of a new lady-in-waiting. Have you ever waited upon anyone before?’

‘I take it your ladyship does not count waiting on a dying septa’, Alayne smiled shyly, eyes still focussed on the floor. Even the tiles were decorated with flowers.

The lady smiled.

‘I don’t. I still have some other ladies-in-waiting, so you would only be helping out when I wake up and go to bed. I am a busy woman, especially now that my husband is gone, so I have little need for entertainment. And when I do I prefer privacy. However, I shall expect, depending on my schedule, that you and the other ladies-in-waiting shall entertain me for an hour every or every next day. Is this agreeable?’

Something about Lady Alerie’s airs and habits struck her as familiar.

She reminded her of Catelyn Stark. Dutiful, full of love for her children, and very busy. Only she knew that her mother did not treat her staff as warmly as Lady Alerie, nor would she have ever made a bastard a lady-in-waiting.

‘More than agreeable, your ladyship.’

‘Very well. I have instructed for your belongings to be brought to one of the smaller guest chambers. I eat in private with my son, you can enjoy your supper in the hall with the other ladies-in-waiting.’

Willas Tyrell.

Alayne bit her lip. Would he be like his other siblings, out and about in company all day, or would he be like Lady Alerie, who spent a lot of time in private? Perhaps he was walking right underneath her balcony with some of his dogs, or in the fields with his hawks. She thought back on some of the romantic fairy tales Old Nan had told her, of two lovers in disguise. Silly tales for stupid children, she told herself, real life was not like the songs, there would be no romance.

Lady Alerie misjudged Alayne’s conflicted gaze.

‘They shall not judge you, I have another lady-in-waiting, a natural born Hightower cousin.’

Sansa chastised herself for allowing her mask to slip. And immediately plastered on a big relieved smile.

‘Whether they liked me would have been of little consequence, the Seven have already blessed me so much by being allowing to stay and serve you, my lady. However, the prospect of making friends and not being looked down upon gladdens me beyond measure. I thank you for your comforting words.’

Lady Alerie nodded and deemed the conversation finished. Alayne was guided to a blue bedroom with rose vines painted on the walls instead of having pillars decorated by delicate stone roses. In the North this would have been a perfect bedroom for Sansa Stark, here it was undoubtedly a room for valued guests of minor houses. After weeks of bodily fatigue and mental turmoil, she was now in a safe haven.

She spent the remainder of the afternoon writing a letter to Lord Baelish, containing nothing that a sweet innocent daughter would not write about. She talked about her journey, the lands, the architecture and her kind reception. There was no word about the Tyrell family, the lay-out of the castle, ships she had seen passing during her trip or the amount of crops being harvested. All in all, there was nothing that could be seen as an infiltrator passing along information. The letter was ready just before dinner. She asked a servant to bring it to the raven tower, as she did not yet know its location and it had grown too dark to start looking for it herself.

In the hall, Lady Florianne introduced her to the table of the ladies-in-waiting of Lady Alerie. They were all quite young, since Lady Alerie had indeed left her oldest ladies with Margaery. And so Alayne was introduced to twenty-year old Amaryllis Flowers, eight-and-twenty year old Ella and thirty year old Leona Tyrell. Lady Amaryllis was the family member Lady Alerie had been talking about, since the girl had blonde hair that was so light it could almost be passed off as silver, the others had the classic Tyrell features with brown hair and light brown eyes.

They were all curious to hear about their newest addition. And so Alayne told the tale of her life, starting with her sad birth, her boring life at the convent, the magical moment when her father revealed himself, and the fairy-tale life she’d lived in the Eyrie, until the awful turn of events that brought her to Highgarden. They swallowed it like sweet Arbor gold, begging for more details. Alayne supplied them happily, even producing a couple of tears to add flavour. She did her best to remember everything she said. She could not mess up her story when someone else asked for it.

They all wanted to hear about her first impressions of Highgarden, which she did not need to lie about. Then it was her turn to ask questions about siblings, their lives, their experiences being here.

‘The Tyrells are so incredibly nice. Really, you cannot wish for a better place to live, Alayne. However, don’t feel insulted if you are chased out of the rooms whenever two of the gather. They don’t trust anyone, not even members of their cadet branches, until it becomes necessary to involve them’, one of the older ladies confided.

‘ Oh yes, I love them, but they do have their thorns, them more than any of us. You won’t notice much of it now, since most senior members are gone but this used to be a very lively place… One time Margaery was kind in my face but behind my back she told two of our cousins she hated my dress’, Amaryllis confessed.

They all agreed on sometimes missing their homes and siblings, but they were happy to be living with the Tyrell heirs, saw a lot of their family, and still had a lot of time to themselves. Lady Alerie was a good-natured mistress, and a kind aunt or cousin to them. She gifted all her ladies, even those who had no close blood relation, gifts on every holiday. Which lead the girls to speculate about the gifts they’d receive during the Summer Solstice celebrations. When Alayne asked about this curious celebration the girls confessed that the celebrations were overshadowed by the approaching Winter, but that they had planned to celebrate it anyways, since it was probably the last real Summer Solstice before Winter was upon them for an unknown amount of time.

‘Many of us have lost husbands, brothers, fathers, uncles and grandparents. And whole families have been torn apart by divided loyalties. Lord Willas was against the celebrations as he saw them as an extravagance, luckily Lord Mace and Lady Alerie reasoned it would boost the morale. They said happy and well-fed people were less likely to rebel, and the people could use some rest.’

Lord Willas was not like his siblings if he did not appreciate a good party, especially one that could be so beneficial for the morale. Although she could not fault his reasoning. Winter was coming, and people would do well to remember that.

‘That is very important indeed. The Vale has been very blessed. We still live in peace, and all are loyal to our sweet Lord Robin Arryn and King Tommen. My father believes that by supporting the rightful king, and offering the people peace and enough resources, The Vale is still the way it is now’, she smiled, playing the part of an innocent girl who didn’t watch her words and easily talked about politics in a way that gave the impression she was just recounting what she had been told, instead of being really involved with the regional politics.

‘I am _so_ glad I live in the Reach. Some of my friends from the Crown Lands say that even they, who are nobles mind you, struggle to fill a table with food. They’ve skipped many celebrational buffets. They say food prices have shot through the roof since the wars have started, many acres were lost due to battles, and the remaining fields are barren since many farmers had to pick up their swords to follow their liege lords’, Ella shared.

‘The High Sparrow should take into account that without the Reach, many regions will starve. The Crown Lands and Riverlands are destroyed by war, as are the Stormlands. He would do well to remember that during dear Queen Margaery’s trial. If they dare harm her or any other Tyrell they can say goodbye to receiving resources from our lands, as far as I’m concerned.’

Alayne bit her tongue. That was a strong statement, especially for a bastard, to make. Yet the ladies did not seem shocked, although the oldest one did reach out to push her shoulder, eyes nervously fluttering towards Alayne.

‘You shouldn’t say such things. He is still the head of the Faith. Margaery hasn’t done anything, a fair trial will see her walk away freely, with her reputation intact. And as queen of all of the seven kingdoms, she shall wish to care for all of her subjects. She cannot have a preference.’

‘We have a lot, but we cannot be expected to provide everyone with food all Winter long. Many of the smallfolk shall die, there’s nothing to do about it’, Amaryllis defended although she accepted the critique.

‘Let us hope the war shall come to a close soon. It is not wise to wage war so close to winter. All lands should focus on growing crops for as long as they can. The Baratheons of King’s Landing have shown that they are stronger than all of their enemies. I wish Stannis Baratheon and the Greyjoys would see that, and accept his rule’, Alayne smiled sweetly.

‘Yes exactly. We should indeed not be used as a grain shed if all those stupid arrogant men would stop fighting for glory. Glory won’t keep you warm and fed in winter. If there were no more wars, people could focus on rebuilding and fortifying, and growing crops to get through winter. I’m sure some crops shall still be able to grow in a colder climate, but reserves are still necessary. I remember the previous winter, as do you Leona, but you two were little more than toddlers, probably still living off of milk. Granted, maybe you noticed some things, Lady Aleyne, since winter must have been stronger in the Vale. Here it was very cold, and it snowed regularly, but it rarely left more than an inch of snow on the ground, and never for long.’

Sansa Stark had been five when Winter ended. She still remembered that she had tried running outside once, but when she opened the door, the snow in the courtyard had been higher than Sansa was tall. She assumed it would snow less in the Vale, since it had a more Southern location, and Gull town had been located by the sea, which would have lessened the presence of snow. However, she remembered tales of her parents talking about how the sea had been filled with ice rocks, and all Northern rivers had frozen over and had to be broken open when the local lords had to travel.

‘I lived close by the sea, which meant I was spared of the worst spells of snow,’ she reasoned, ‘However, there were days I woke up and the snow in the garden reached up until my chest. Gulltown was a fishing village surrounded by acres, wood had to be imported from the woods closer to the mountain range. The septa’s burned theirs sparingly, since the amount of snow made travel difficult, so we never knew when we would receive the next load. I remember quite a few of the older septa’s dying because of the cold and poor diet. We were lucky though. The septa’s had built large greenhouses where despite the cold, the crops could still grow, as they shielded the ground from the worst of the cold and the snow. Greenhouses are still very popular in the mountains, there’s permanent snow on our mountain tops, you know, and even in Summer it’s still quite cold. A few months ago, it even started snowing in the Eyrie.’

‘Months ago?’ Amaryllis asked in shock, even Leona was shaken by the notion. Sansa had seen snow every year of her life, excepting the two years. But to these girls, it had probably been eleven years since they’d last seen it.

‘Was it a lot?’ Ella asked, who by now had clearly presented herself as the leader.

‘Enough to build entire castles out of it’, she admitted gleefully. Her joy managed to take away some of their worry.

‘How tall were these castles, how high was the snow?’ Amaryllis asked with interest.

‘Oh, um, well, the castle I made was about hip-height, but I had collected a lot of snow from across the courtyard. The snow only reached up until halfway past my shins.’

‘But you’re quite tall, aren’t you? Halfway your shins could very well be until my knees’, Ella smiled.

‘No way’, smiled Alayne.

‘Bet?’ asked Ella before standing upright. Alayne laughed and stood with her. Alayne stood a head taller.

‘Still says nothing about the height of my shins or your knees.’

‘A shin is the exact length of a lower-arm. Hold your arms against each other’, Leona instructed. They did, and though there was quite some difference, there wasn’t enough to prove Ella’s claim. After dinner the girls remained seated for a while yet, and played cyvasse in pairs of two while drinking Arbor wine of all shades. Leona always won, but the other three were equally matched.

After helping Lady Alerie during her night time routine – which boiled down to little more than having to take her small clothes to the laundry rooms with Amaryllis while the older ladies took care of Lady Alerie’s bathing and hair – Alayne went to bed with a light heart, the Tyrells were just as open, friendly and welcoming as they had been in King’s Landing.

However, Sansa remembered well how cunning Olenna Tyrell had been. She remembered how much effort Margaery had put into building the image of a caretaker of the poor, and how she had constantly surrounded herself with ladies-in-waiting, and had even shared her bed with them, to prevent anyone from questioning her virginity. Her plans had failed, but Alayne now knew how calculated they had been. And knowing that they were good friends with Littlefinger gave Sansa reason to suspect that they were even more cunning and scheming than she was aware of.

Littlefinger was always working on a thousand plans, some long term, some short term, and she doubted the Tyrells were merely pawns. They were ambitious, their continuous attempts to marry Margaery off to kings, Loras’ entry into the Kingsguard, and the positions on the small council going to Lord Tyrell and his kin were a clear sign of that. In just a year, they’d manoeuvred themselves into so many strategic positions of power that they had now all become important pieces on the board. She should not underestimate the Tyrells. She had learned.

**x.X.x**

The next morning she was roused by Amaryllis, who informed her she was running late. The morning was busier, as Alayne was responsible to carry up breakfast with Amaryllis, while the other ladies helped Lady Alerie dress. Next, Alerie had decided to test one of Alayne’s claims, and gave her a lovely embroidered dress of which the bottom of the skirt had been worn out. It was up to Alayne to restore it with careful needlework and some ribbons. Alayne accepted the task, and spent the remainder of the morning embroidering with the other ladies.

The ladies-in-waiting had a room to themselves close to the quarters of Lady Tyrell. Although it was not a sunny day, a part of the roof was made out of glass, and an entire wall was made out of sliding woodwork panels with squares of glass to let through the light, so the lighting in the room could not have been better. One panel was pushed to the side, so fresh wind could blow in. It also carried in the scent of the gardens and the sound of rain, which Sansa really enjoyed.

The ladies talked about trivial matters such as dinner, supposed bedsharing between servants, rumoured pregnancies, and what they were going to wear to the sept the next day. Alayne would have to pick up praying again.

‘Perhaps I’ll wear my blue dress, it does look handsome on me, but it is not too dressed-up. I know Garther looked at me when I last wore it’, Amaryllis grinned.

‘You are incorrigible’, Leona sighed.

‘I can hardly be expected to remain single. If I am lucky, I hope to marry. Don’t you, Leona? The seven know you waited long enough after…’

‘Don’t speak of it’, Leona pleaded.

Alayne looked up with a worried frown.

‘She was promised’, Ella supplied.

‘He died during the Battle of the Blackwater’, Leona sighed.

‘My father had an understanding with his father that his firstborn son would marry me, he was born six years after me but this mattered not. However, he asked me to wait with marriage. He wanted to gain prestige first. So he learned to be squire, then became a ser, then went out participating in tourneys. The wedding kept being pushed backwards as he did not want to inconvenience me by bringing me along. And then the war broke out and he was needed. The rest is history.’

‘All that waiting’, Alayne pitied the girl.

‘We’re used to waiting around here. It’s what we’ve all been doing’, Ella smiled.

When Alayne threw her an inquisitive look, she elaborated.

‘Well, at least those of us who are important enough to have marriage prospects. Many of our great families had children at an awkward moment.’

‘Many nobles of the Reach were too young to fight or marry around the time of Robert’s Rebellion, but are older than the children of the other great houses, making political alliances or marriages outside the Reach quite difficult. Many nobles waited while their children grew, hoping other nobles would soon marry and produce offspring. But only Walder Frey had a large amount of children of the right age… but well… Who wants to be married to one of the Freys?’ Leona smiled.

‘In the end, all local lords and ladies decided it was good for the internal stability of the region if there were a lot of marriages. Like Gallard Fossoway who is now married and expecting a child with Ateana. And then there’s Elinor who shall soon marry Alyn Ambrose. And of course, there’s Ser Garlan and Lady Leonette. Garlan was head over heels with Leonette, but the only reason why he could marry her was because he had three others siblings who could form political alliances, and there was not a single lady of another great house around his age to whom he could be married, except for Arianne Martell, but you know how we are with the Martells. Margaery had to do her waiting too, all available men were either quite beneath her age, or quite above it. In the end they decided to marry her to the most influential lord closest to her in age, Lord Renly, and afterwards I guess they decided age wasn’t important anymore, since she married the two boy kings’, Ella shrugged.

She remembered the Fossoway man, his wife had been pregnant when she saw them at her own wedding to Tyrion. And of course she could not forget Leonette and Garlan, those two were indeed the most loving couple she’d ever seen.

‘The only one who’s really playing a waiting game right now is…’ Amaryllis bit her lip.

Almost all Tyrell children had been accounted, and with one of the two remaining men in the Kingsguard, that left only…

A clash from upstairs interrupted Amaryllis’ speech. Alayne startled, looking at the ceiling in fright.

She could hear a loud stumbling, followed by what sounded like the screeching of some kind of bird.

‘Willas Tyrell’, Ella said.

‘Bad news I guess’, Leona sighed.

‘Not again’, Amaryllis pouted.

Alayne was confused.

‘What-‘

‘Lord Willas’, Leona shrugged, deeming that no further explanation was needed. She seemed to regard his existence and personality as a universally understood fact, with which everybody must be acquainted by instinct.

This was Alayne’s first encounter with what she would come to know as the ghost of Highgarden.

She had not been prepared for the secrets she heard that day, but apparently the ladies did not consider them secrets. The things that shocked her most were said as they responded to rumours.

‘Oh really? Dearest, I doubt Allarella would have slept with Loras in King’s Landing. Come on, Loras seduces young ladies but he doesn’t like them at all, he slept with one of my cousin’s friends once and complained to him about how women were the worst. We all know he’s always preferred the brothers to the sisters, all those charms are just a cover up.’

Alayne was mortified at never having noticed Loras’ inclination. She was flooded with embarrassment at having fallen for his charade and him in King’s Landing. Every day it became more and more obvious why the roses had befriended the mockingbird.

‘Oh Alayne, you look so shocked’, Ella laughed when Alayne blinked a joke at King Joffrey’s expense.

‘You should’ve been around when it was first decided Margaery would marry Joffrey… they really bought that we were going to give our princess to someone who had his previous fiancée beaten to a bloody pulp, it was comical. As if we don’t protect our own.’

Alayne thought back on the net of purple stones in her brown dress.

‘Thank the seven for your father.’

Finally, a truth she had long pushed away emerged. She had never allowed herself to connect the dots. She had been so utterly destroyed after King’s Landing, she couldn’t deal with seeing that she was just as much captured by a ruthless murderer now as she had been before. Her hairnet had been used for Joffrey’s murder, and both Lord Baelish and Lady Olenna had known, and Joffrey’s death had apparently been anticipated by many in Highgarden.

They had orchestrated it, and had planned on making Lord Tyrion the suspect. She felt no love for her husband, but he had been the best Lannister she had met, and had protected her from his nephew. He probably wished to kill the little king himself, but would have never done it.

What had come of him?

She pushed the thought away.

**x.X.x**

She had thought she’d see the man himself in the sept the next day, but he was a no-show. Rumour had it that after receiving bad news the previous day – no one knew about what – he had hurt himself and was not able to descend to the sept from his floor. If her brother Bran had lived, he would probably suffer similar problems, she mused. The reminder distracted her during the entire speech of the septon.

The remainder of the day was spent being lead through the gardens Sansa had once imagined being shown by Willas, followed by a trail of puppies. Alas, there were no puppies, and there was no Tyrell heir, instead she got Amaryllis who skipped next to her, winking at gardeners and telling myths about the castle. She reminded her of a slightly more polished version of Myranda Royce, as she wasn’t as blunt or indecent.

She knew she could not trust anyone, but Amaryllis was an untrained young girl, and hadn’t been touched by politics, she would not mind becoming her friend.

‘I once heard Highgarden had a great dog kennel. Is it true? I have not seen it during our excursion, Amaryllis’, Alayne asked over dinner.

‘Oh, yes we do. It’s amazing. Sometimes, when we’re bored, we go there to take some of the dogs out for a walk. Actually, they’re fed right after dinner, we could go down there. Although… I had promised to play some board games with a friend of mine down in the first circle tonight.’ Amaryllis frowned, trying to figure out a way to combine the two.

The two older girls had already started a game of cyvasse during dinner. Leona looked up with a frown, although she tried very much to smile apologetically. They did not want to take Alayne.

‘Is it fine if I take you there and take the effort to talk you through the route so you’ll find your way back? You don’t need to worry about the time. Lady Tyrell only goes to bed at twelve. You’ll hear the clock striking.’

Alayne nodded. She was disappointed, and a bit afraid, of already being left to her own devices, but she would not mind the loneliness, especially if she could spend the time with a bunch of dogs.

I might not get Highgarden, but I will get to spend some time with the puppies. At least one dream was not completely lost.

After dinner, Amaryllis took her to the kennel. There was no one to be seen around the kennel, only a couple of dogs walking and lounging on the enclosed grass field around it, which according to Amaryllis. She said she’d spotted the kennelmaster at dinner, where he often remained until the last dinner guest had departed, so he could take the scraps to the dogs. Amaryllis took her leave, and Sansa entered the kennel on her own. Alayne asked whether it was truly fine for her to visit the kennel, to which Amaryllis agreed heartily.

Don’t be so afraid, Alayne, you’ll know which dogs you can pet and which you don’t upon seeing them. Really, we are all encouraged to visit whenever we want so the pups will be nice and tame by the time they’re sold as pets. As for the hounds, well, stay away from them.’

If she had been Sansa Stark, she would have laughed, she’d had a direwolf for a pet.

Poor Lady, a part of Sansa’s heart still bled for her.

Alayne pushed open the door, and was surprised to see how well-lit and clean the kennel was. She was greeted by a line of doorframes, with doors reaching until shoulder height. On the uttermost left side she could see a metal door which probably lead to the grass field. She could hear all kinds of barks. On the doors she could read the breeds.

She bit her lip to keep from smiling. There were no people here, and she would get to see some dogs, and hopefully puppies. It was the closest she’d be to freedom. She tiptoed into the small corridor, and spotted three low doors on her right, opposite to the line of high doors. It was the perfect height to look across.

‘Oh!’ she could not help but cry out when she was met by the sight of a dozen golden puppies around a tame looking mother.

‘Hello there’, she greeted, unable to keep the smile from her face.

The puppies barked lightly, and one fell over as they rushed towards the door.

‘Hi’, she smiled.

She looked back at the abandoned kennel, unsure whether she dared to go in. But the front door was closed, even if the puppies escaped as she opened the door, she was certain she’d be able to catch them.

‘How are you doing?’ she cooed. They wiggled their tails in excitement.

‘You probably think I’m going to give you food, don’t you? I’m afraid I can’t do that. But how about some hugs?’ Their tiny barks only made her smile grow wider. Her cheeks were already aching. It had been such a long time since she’d been able to smile freely.

‘Could you lend me a hand first?’

She jumped at the sound of the tense voice.

She froze, unsure of what to do. She could not help but feel the need to flee. Toughen up, Alayne, they already heard you.

‘W-where are you?’

‘Third stall on the left’, the voice replied. The man sounded strained. She wondered what was the matter as she made her way over. She peeked over the stall door. There was a large dark brown hound there. Her whining had been drowned out by the barking of the other dogs when she’d first entered, Alayne reasoned. Her belly was swollen, and she could even make out tine shapes within. Next to her sat a tall man with thick dark hair, he was only wearing a dark green tunic. She could see the shape of a jerkin in the corner. She could almost pretend he was someone else. Someone who wasn’t with a hound, but was one.

It mattered not, he was but a memory from another life.

‘I’m here?’ she announced, although it came out more like a question.

‘Yes, yes, come in’, he said, motioning with his hand but not turning his face towards her.

She opened the door and slipped in, looking over his shoulder as the hound laid down panting. She could see her belly shaking. It looked way too big for her thin limbs.

‘She’s been having a tough labour. It started last night, I think they’re coming right as we speak.’

Alayne bit her lip, looking into the gentle brown eyes of the dog. She didn’t even make the conscious decision to sit down, she just did. The dog crawled upright, walking across the old rough spun linens towards the corner. She pushed her head into the corner, and then her rear. Alayne could see a shape right beneath its tail. The dog turned and twisted, and then she saw it. A greyish bubble exited the dog. Followed by a large dark blob. It clung to her though.

Alayne frowned. Wasn’t it supposed to fall? The dog whined, turning to look at its rear. She knew she should be revolted, but she was too intrigued to look away. She couldn’t help but pity the poor dog as she whined and turned.

‘Shouldn’t we do something?’

‘No. She knows what to do, this isn’t her first time.’

The dog sank through its limbs, laying on her side, and finally the blob fell out. The man shoved his sleeves past his elbows and reached for the pup, taking the slimy thing with open hands and laying it down in front of the mother’s face. She gave it a good couple of sniffs and started licking. He sat back, allowing them some time. As the mother licked away the slime, the puppy started wiggling. And then she heard it, the first soft whine of a new-born puppy. She was immediately taken back to when they found the dead direwolf who had given birth to Lady and the others. Tears jumped into her eyes as she remembered the soft whines of her beloved pet. It had been three years, and she still hadn’t forgotten the sound.

Alayne didn’t notice how the man took the black-greenish placenta and threw it in a trash can.

‘She still hasn’t chewed the umbilical cord’, he breathed as the dog started wiggling again.

‘Put the pup in the basket with the hot water bottles, there right where the mother can see it’, he instructed as he reached for the iodine and set out to crush the cord.

Alayne reached out and took the pup.

‘Sorry’, she whispered to the mother.

With the membrane licked off, it felt like she was holding a wet dog miniature. She stroked a finger across the fur, it felt funny. She studied the puppy up close as it whined.

‘Awh, it’s ugly’, she declared with smile as she carried it to the basket, gently laying it down.

‘She said fondly’, the man smirked.

Alayne finally looked at him, finding herself smiling self-consciously. He appeared to be halfway through his twenties. Amaryllis had said the kennel master was still in the hall, and Alayne sincerely doubted one of the most famous kennels in Westeros would be in the hands of someone so young. Perhaps an apprentice, she reasoned.

He might have vaguely looked like the Hound from the back, but it was clear he was not as tall, nor as muscled, and his face was a drastic departure as well. Although his nose was also rather crooked, it looked more like was the result of being broken, and there were some three scars on one side, although they only made him look experienced instead of a fright. His hair was not almost black, as she had first believed. It was auburn, and his beard was flecked with ginger.

‘Thanks for helping out, Rollo won’t be back for a while yet. Right, there we go again’, he said as he turned back towards the dog when she started whining.

He was probably talking about the kennel master. She nodded, giving the puppy a last look before she scooted closer to the man.

The dog whined as she stood, slimy strings of blood dripping out, before the next shape hanging underneath her tail started pushing through. This one went faster, and the man had to act quickly or the pup would have fallen to the ground. The dog heaved, and started walking. The man quickly reached and crushed the cord, trying to reach the puppy towards the dog. But the dog was too far, and he didn’t try to crawl towards her.

‘Hey girl, come see your new baby’, Alayne smiled.

‘Come.’ She crawled towards the dog, but it turned away, plopping down near the basket with her other pup as the next placenta slipped out.

‘Yuck.’

‘Give me that towel over there, will you?’ the man instructed, signalling towards the corner full of towels. She walked over and handed it to him.

‘First time’, he concluded as he took it and wrapped it around the pup.

‘Yes. It’s my first time in the kennel actually… First time in any kennel’, she admitted. There was no use in denying she wasn’t from around here, her accent would have given her away immediately, and she surmised that since the war started, all new arrivals would stand out.

‘Then this will surely amaze you, watch’, he said as he rubbed the puppy still stuck in the membrane.

As he rubbed the little thing, the membrane clung to the towel, and the tiny dog was slowly but surely freed. The man gently massaged the puppy and it came to life, wiggling impatiently for a few minutes.

‘Come on’, he whispered, stroking his finger across the tiny snout. And then, finally, it let out its first whine. Alayne did like that.

That did get the mom’s attention, who was already pushing out number three.

The mother dog had come closer to them, so he placed the puppy close to her face and then moved to take the next one. Alayne watched the slime dripping down his arms with mild disgust. She allowed the mother dog to give her second pup some licks, before placing it into the basket close to its sibling. The mother did bite through the umbilical cord and took her time licking off the membrane, allowing the two to continue their talk.

‘For someone who isn’t a dog person, you’re doing just fine.’

‘I do like dogs’, she defended.

She wanted to share her story about Lady. But it didn’t fit in with her septa story. Her heart ran over with emotion seeing the puppies, it reminded her too much of the puppy she’d had, and the others who’d gone to her brothers and sister. Dead, all dead. All but Jon Snow. And nobody knew the fate of their direwolves.

‘We just weren’t allowed to have them at the convent where I grew up, we had some cats though, since they chased the mice’, she lied, a tear rolling down her cheek. She forced herself to smile as she looked up at him.

‘So this clearly isn’t your first time.’

He chuckled, it was a pleasant low rumble, reaching his eyes which creased with mirth. He shook his head.

‘No, you can say I’m quite an expert. I’ve been here for the last… Oh, I lost the count at hundred. I like to be here when they’re born.’

‘Hundred!’ Alayne cried out.

‘It sounds like a lot, but many of the dogs give birth once a year. I’m always sad when I fail to attend one. But I think, save for I’d say five births, I’ve witnessed them all the past eight years.’

‘Impressive’, Alayne replied with a smile, although it faltered when she saw him pick up the placenta with his bare hands and put it in the trash can. He wiped his hands down on one of the linens on the floor.

Her nose crinkled.

‘It’s not exactly glamorous,’ she admitted, ‘but it is… I mean… I get it’, she said as she looked at the hound eagerly licking her whining pup.

He smiled at her, but she didn’t notice as she was staring at the mother and child. She’d talked about a convent, but she wasn’t dressed like a septa. She was dressed like a noblewoman, and had the straight posture of one, and her pronunciation was quite elegant as well. She couldn’t be from around here, or she definitely wouldn’t have addressed him the way she did.

‘It’s time to put him with its siblings.’

‘Him?’

‘I don’t know what it is yet, you can only start to tell at four weeks’, he explained as Alayne put the pup away.

The dog didn’t look as swollen anymore, Alayne noticed. Once again there was a round shape hanging at the furthest point of the belly. She was laying down now, exhausted by the effort.

Another two puppies came out and were taken care of.

‘Alright, Take her outside so she can pee, and then she can give her first feeding.’

‘But there are some other dogs outside.’

‘They won’t harm her.’

‘But what if they run inside? They do not know me, and some of them are quite large.’

The man’s eyebrows lowered.

‘You’re scared.’

‘I do apologize for refusing, but I can’t help being scared. Or am I wrong to be scared? You know them, I will take your advice if you say they are perfectly safe to be around.’

She lifted her chin, trying to put on a brave face. She did not dare ask why he didn’t want to do it, and he himself did not feel inclined to provide a reason. He was amused the girl didn’t know his identity. It had been a while since he’d met anyone new, especially a new girl who was so pretty. Despite the fact that she must be highborn, she was very kind to someone who would appear to be nothing but a servant. He wished that for just a little while, he could carry on pretending to be a normal and whole man, having a conversation with a nice girl.

Between keeping up contact with his allies and family, the threat on the west coast, the threat of the ironborn near the Arbor, and the fate of his brothers and sister, he’d had little sleep and little free time. He’d neglected all of his pastimes and his eagles, but when he received message of Coco going into labour, he’d decided to take the night off.

‘You’ll be fine. Her name’s Coco. Just watch her through the door as she’s doing her business, and when you think she’s finished, call for her like you did before, but use her name. She’ll respond.’

Sansa nodded, rising with ease and elegance.

‘Come girl, come on Coco’, she tried as she smiled at the dog. The dog eyed her tiredly.

‘C’mon’, the man said, before making some weird sounds with his cheek. He gave her a soft pat. The dog rose without complaint. Sansa Stark recognized that sound, Farlen she’d heard Farlen make them at Winterfell. Another wave of nostalgia hit her as she opened the door. The fresh air seemed to bring the dog to life.

Alayne shielded the dog from going the wrong direction, and opened the door to the grass enclosure. The dog slipped through the door, taking her time to have a little walk, before doing her stuff. Alayne called her back the second she was done, and at the third call, the dog obeyed.

To her surprise, the man wasn’t alone anymore. A big burly man now sat near the pups as well. Alayne froze as the dog slipped past her to answer the cries of her brood.

The new man lifted his bushy eyebrows at her.

‘This is my assistant’, the younger man declared. ‘She did a good job while you were away, Rollo.’

Alayne could now hear how the dogs were silent. She could hear chewing sounds through the doors. They’d been fed. This was the kennelmaster.

‘Who is our new assistant? Yours is a face I haven’t seen before.’

Alayne blushed, looking down.

‘Alayne Stone… I wanted to see the kennel for myself. I’d heard so much about it.’

‘You know how to pick your timing, lady.’

‘It appears so’, she answered, lifting her head. She was Lord Baelish’s daughter, she needn’t lower her head for him.

‘I was told the residents were encouraged to visit the kennel’, she explained.

‘They are, but what’s a Stone doing residing here?’ he questioned. His pronunciation was quite lazy, Alayne noticed. Only now did she realize how cultured the other man had sounded. Perhaps he was a son of minor house who simply enjoyed dogs.

‘My father sent me here, but I don’t see how that concerns you.’

Both men raised their eyebrows at the sign of steel, where before she’d seemed to be a shy maiden.

‘And who is your father?’ the younger man questioned.

It didn’t add up. A girl dressed and acted like a noblewoman, yet had grown up in a convent, but was sent here by her father? He wondered what possible explanation could be behind it.

‘Lord Baelish’, she answered coolly, allowing the name to speak for itself. Even the kennelmaster knew who he was.

‘Well, Lady Stone, you did me a great service. Do feel free to drop by to check in on the pups any time. The kennels are indeed open to all residents of Highgarden, including you’, the younger man said with a polite smile.

Alayne nodded, giving the puppies a last look.

‘They’ll be fine?’

‘They are.’

Alayne curtsied and excused herself. It had not ended the way she’d wished, but she would treasure the small moment with the puppies. After performing her duties, Alayne dreamt about taking care of the puppies under the guiding eye of the handsome man. And if his face sometimes switched to that of the Hound, she could not be blamed, although his face was starting to fade in her memory. She chased a puppy across a hill, finding it cuddling up to a tall grey wolf. Lady. The wolf looked up at her, her eyes peaceful and loving.

Sansa woke up with tears on her face, but it had been a lovely dream. She wondered if Lady did look over her from the beyond. Good, docile lady. Stolen from her too soon, but she would not have belonged in King’s Landing, and she wouldn’t have been able to take her to the Eyrie with her either. Dogs and wolves weren’t made for a life like hers. Dogs belonged to a home, with a lord and a lady, free to run outside during the day, and rest in front of the fire at night. She wished she could have that one day, but those were dreams for spring. It was winter now, and she had to fight for her own survival.

**x.X.x**

The next time Alayne noticed the presence of the mysterious Willas Tyrell was when she’d heard voices from behind the door of Lady Alerie’s solar one evening. Leona went in, and came back a couple of minutes later, saying all ladies-in-waiting had been instructed to go to bed, since Lady Alerie and her son were very busy and would probably not go to bed before dawn.

She visited the kennel that evening, and the kennel master was very kind to her, but she didn’t see the young man again. Slowly, news started trickling down to the staff. Loras Tyrell had arrived at Longtable, after a very slow journey. Little was known about his condition, but it was generally deemed to be very bad. It was said that Lady Olenna had halted her journey, and had even gone back to check in on her grandson. The Redwyne fleet was on its way to defend an unknown location, and the situation in King’s Landing was still tense.

Alayne didn’t know what to do with the information. Littlefinger had written to her, writing little titbits about the tourney. He told her who’d won, and that a petty criminal who’d popped up during the tourney had not yet been found. Alayne knew who he was referring to and what it meant. It meant she couldn’t return. She wrote back about visiting the kennel – although she left out the part where she’d spent hours together with a single man – and about her friendships with the other ladies-in-waiting. Because she could call them friends now, they had spent much time together the past week. She had taken to telling them stories Old Nan had told her once upon a time, but said she’d read them in some of books in the convent. The girls were very enthusiastic about her stories.

**x.X.x**

Thirteen days after her arrival, it was decided that Lady Alerie would go to Longtable, and would only take the two older ladies with her, coincidentally they were the pureblood Tyrells. Alayne and Amaryllis were excused for the entirety of her trip and did not have to do anything in the meantime. Amaryllis had been disappointed, but was overjoyed with the free time. Amaryllis immediately planned to visit her mother, who lived in a house located in the lowest circle, and was planning on staying there for the night. Alayne had the whole room she usually shared with the other ladies to herself. She’d spent the day visiting the kennel and reading, but by night fall, she’d grown bored, and the harp in the corner had been asking for her attention for a couple of hours now.

Leona usually played it, and Alayne had never offered. Sansa Stark had gotten a couple of lessons from Lady Leonette, but she wasn’t sure if she could still play it. She hadn’t known how she could explain to the other girls she knew how to play the harp, nor did she know if she could still do it. But since no one was around, she decided to give it a go. She moved her fingers in practice a couple of times, remembering the technique and a melody she’d been taught. Her fingers were slow, but her moves were targeted, her fingers gracefully touching the long snares. She gave up quickly enough, she had to admit she did not remember the remainder of the song. She hummed the notes repeatedly, trying to figure out what note followed, but decided a walk would be a better way to spend the evening. There would be few people about now, and she had longed to gaze at the stars and walk the gardens in private for a while now.

 _Would they look the same as they did in the Eyrie,_ she wondered.

The gardens at dusk were infinitely more beautiful. The pastel hues and golden light transformed the majestic gardens in a true magical realm, if not for the formal and unnatural shapes of the flower beds, Alayne could almost pretend the children of the forest and princesses from tales of old roamed here. She spotted a castiron music gazebo encircled with beautiful flowers, the entrance of ancient destroyed gatehouse overgrown with vines, and other centuries old relicts located on natural slopes and hidden between trees and bushes. It felt very much like a lost civilisation, caught between the walls of the current one, although those walls were nowhere to be seen from the hiking trails.

In the evening the heady aroma of the day flowers mixed with the intoxicating aroma of the night-bloomers and the lingering smell of the greenery which had been warmed by the sunrays during the daytime was a delight to her nose. She could just feel herself coming to rest as she walked down the gravel road that crunched underneath her feet. She admored magnificent sculptures and sleepy ponds. She could hear the birds and frogs but they were no longer visibly perturbing the surface of the water, having gone into hiding between the reeds instead. 

A wave of wind blew even more tiny flowers from the bright green havens of the tree branches hanging over the path. Almost the entire path was covered in pale flowers with pink centres. Her eyes flickered towards a split in the road, the left side continuing around the pond, the other decidedly smaller path of woodchip path turning to the left. Feeling like an adventurous princess, she took the smaller path, the sound of her steps muffled by the layer of fallen flowers.

She found the white flowered bushes and thick glimmering leaves gave way to a clearing the likes of which she had by now become accustomed to seeing. Underneath tall trees with pink flowers, stood a couple of wooden benches on wrought iron feet around an iron and marble table made for playing cyvasse. Even though she had become used to the sight, she froze on the spot. She’d seen many elderly people taking a rest on those types of benches, and women watching their children, but she hadn’t expected to see the puppy man on her walk. He hadn’t heard her coming, and she wondered whether she shouldn’t just go. But when a bird chirped in a bush next to her, the decision was made for her, as the man looked up and noticed her.

‘Ah, Lady Stone.’

‘I apologize for disturbing you’, she said quickly while bending her head.

‘No, it’s fine. I had come to the gardens looking for a diversion anyways. My daily duties have been quite taxing, you see. Care to join me?’ he asked.

‘I am afraid I’m bad at games, my …’, she interrupted himself, wishing to address him correctly.

‘My lord will do, I’m a Tyrell after all.’

Perhaps a brother of one of the ladies in waiting of Lady Alerie, she mused. He didn’t look like Loras, Garlan or Margaery after all, their hair was a different hue of brown, and their eyes had all been dark, while his eyes appeared to be some kind of blue like Lady Alerie’s, his nose wasn’t as straight either, and his face was decidedly more masculine. Even Garlan’s beard couldn’t hide the daintiness and elegance of his facial features.

Alayne nodded and took up seat across of him. He was more dressed-up today, wearing a green tunic and a dark green embroidered jerkin.

‘I haven’t brought a second cup with me, but since we are alone, we might as well forget some of the decorum, you can drink from the bottle if you like… And if you are nice, I might just offer you my cup.’

Alayne laughed, nervously brushing her hair behind her ear.

‘I apologize beforehand for being a poor player, my lord.’

‘A daughter of Lord Baelish a poor player at strategy games? I find that hard to believe.’

‘I was raised by septas, my lord, we did not play a lot of games.’

‘Of course, no matter, it will still be better than playing by myself.’

He had nice muscled arms, Alayne mused as she watched him put the pieces back in place.

How odd that his arms were muscled yet he was quite soft around the belly.

‘Do you know how to use the pieces?’

She nodded, biting her lip. She’d seen her brothers and father play it, and Lord Baelish had played it quite a few times too. And then of course the Tyrell ladies liked to play it. Now was the time she’d fail, after having spent all her free time reading and embroidering.

He won in six moves, then in eleven. Although he offered little conversation, he took the time to point out the weak spots in her defences, and how she could have prevented him from taking her pieces.

‘I’m such a stupid little bird’, she sighed as he once again put the pieces in place.

‘Ah, I know quite a few things about birds. When they’re newly born, they’re toys for the cats, but give them some time and some lessons and they can become birds of prey. You may yet learn, my lady.’

‘Not all birds are birds of prey though’, she answered a bit too cheekily a bit too quickly.

He arched an eyebrow, and she quickly cast her eyes down again.

‘I apologize, I spoke out of turn.’

‘What bird do you believe you are then?’

‘Somebody once called me a songbird, chirping all the tunes people learned me, but destined to be a useless bird in a cage.’

How funny that the stupid little bird had ended up in the clutches of the mockingbird.

‘You know there’s more to songbirds than sitting and singing in a cage right? Take swallows for example, they’re no caged birds at all. They spend much time in the air, capturing insects; they are among the most agile of passerine birds. Now, the crow can be counted amongst the songbirds too, although you wouldn’t call them that. You know how crows are, I assume, they hunt, they’re smart, they’re cunning, they’re no real pets. Like all songbirds those two can be taught things, but they’re no stupid little balls of feathers. So, what kind of bird shall you be, my lady?’ he asked with all confidence of a man just having won an argument as he lifted his cup.

Alayne couldn’t keep a smile of her face.

‘One who hopefully learns to mimic your style and steal your pawns quite quickly.’

He smiled in amusement and gestured for her to make the first move.

This she knew, she’d seen Lord Baelish, the Tyrell ladies and now he himself make the starting moves quite a lot, her interest had always slackened after the first few moves. She decided to go for a move she’d seen Lord Baelish make quite a lot.

‘Interesting.’

He took some time making his move.

‘I haven’t seen you around since our first meeting, you must be very busy.’

‘I am, and Highgarden is a large place too. You have to have quite a bit of luck to accidentally bump into someone you want to see’, he answered as he made his move.

Alayne considered the positions and checked the defences, going over her own pieces that were available to her.

 _You have to look ahead. Where will the game go in a couple of moves?_ She could hear Lord Baelish whispering in her ear. She went through the moves the lord had made the last couple of games. She needed to protect her pieces in advance, and ensure she had pieces available to attack him once he brought his pieces into position.

She pushed through the haziness of her memories and tried to remember what kinds of pieces people usually lost first before making her move.

‘Were you looking for me, perchance?’

‘I wasn’t’, she said perhaps a bit too quickly. He laughed and made his move.

‘I wouldn’t have minded, everyone always seeks me out for serious business. I could use some diversion.’

He had dark circles underneath his eyes. It made her think of Tyrion Lannister. Always locked away in rooms trying to solve all the trouble of Westeros, sleeping little, and then coming home to his ice queen of a wife. He’d been nice to her. How was it the pretty people always had the worst character, and the ugly people the best? Though the best was debatable, he was still a Lannister. He was still a schemer, a drunk, and a sharp-witted mercenary man.

But that was how you stayed alive, wasn’t it, you either died a noble man, or lived to become a schemer?

Alayne nodded empathically.

‘It must be very hard, having your family scattered throughout a land that’s torn by war, some captured and some injured even. I pray for all of you in the sept, the Tyrells have been very kind in accepting me here.’

His eyes hardened, his mouth pulling at the corners. She’d hit a sensitive spot.

‘Yes, very hard. I take it you’ve been able to find your place amongst us here in Highgarden?’ he asked, eyes roving across the pale blue dress with rose print. She’d gotten the fabric from Amaryllis during her first week. It had been a most welcome gift since despite the frequent rain, the climate was still quite humid, and so she had been in need of lighter dresses. She’d made a dress with short sleeves and long and narrow sleeves, both in the Highgarden style to show her appreciation for her hosts.

‘Yes, the other ladies have been most kind to me. I had not dared to dream of such kindness before I arrived.’

‘What did you know of Highgarden before arriving, my lady? Are we not known for our hospitality?’ he asked as he stole one of her pieces. He liked using his big pieces, while keeping as many of his smaller pieces to stand in her way. He always removed his pieces after he made a move. She’d have to have her more powerful pieces on the second line, ready for an attack whenever he placed one of his pieces close by so she could strike immediately after he’d made his move.

‘I-‘ She’d practised this before, going through what information would have been suitable for a religiously raised girl to know. Having a father who was a lord and one of the most informed masterminds of the Seven Kingdoms allowed her to know more than she should have known as a peasant, but she’d only spent a year with him, so it couldn’t have been too much.

‘I know my father is very fond of the Tyrells and has good relationships with them. So I knew the basics, who’s the head of the house, his wife, their children, where was it located, a bit of history’, she shook her shoulders, furrowing her brow like she found it hard to remember more.

‘I read a book on my way here, about the nature, and the history of the region. It was quite interesting. But the book didn’t do this place justice… it’s just… so unlike the Vale in every way.’

‘In a good way?’

‘Of course in a good way, look at this place, my lord. I couldn’t have dreamt of ever visiting the Reach, and now here I am. Highgarden is often called the most beautiful place in all of the Seven Kingdoms, and though I haven’t seen a lot in my life, I wholeheartedly agree. Like, the architecture, the nature, the fashion, the kitchen, it’s… amazing.’

He took her answer with a smile, but upon looking down, saw his dragon had gone missing.

‘You crow!’ he cried out, at which a small smile grew on her face.

‘I’m a slow learner, but I learn’, she admitted.

‘I shouldn’t have been teaching you.’

‘That wouldn’t have been very chivalrous, my lord. I am indebted to you, for giving me a piece of your wisdom.’

‘Chivalry is for knights, which I am not nor shall I ever be. Games are rarely won by chivalry.’

‘My father would agree with you’, she smiled coyly. ‘But they can be at least partially won by appearing to be kind and making small gestures’, she added.

‘My family would agree with you. Tyrells always say that one must try to appear kind, honest and helpful to gain something, however, I always hope people will answer my kindness by not using it against me.’

‘I’m afraid I have been raised by a different kind of man’, Alayne smiled.

‘Well, I’ve been raised to be a rose, but I’m afraid you have made it necessary for me to show my thorns.’

‘Oh dear’, laughed Alayne as she watched his next move.

He changed tactics.

 _He had been playing it nice and easy before,_ she realized. She’d underestimated him. Their game continued in silence. She wasn’t much used to silent men, when men were silent, usually something was the matter, but he appeared to find conversation unnecessary, without the silence becoming unsettling.

The game was over in ten minutes.

‘I’m afraid I’ve been stabbed by the thorns’, she laughed.

The bells of the sept rang.

‘Oh, is it that late already?’

‘Yes, why? Don’t tell me your ride will turn into a pumpkin.’

‘My lord believes me to be a Gardener princess?’ Alayne smiled.

The lord smiled, drinking from his cup.

‘Does that make me a Gardener prince?’

‘My lord!’ Alayne cried, pretending to be offended.

He shook his head in amusement.

‘I apologize, that was most undignified. I’m afraid I haven’t been in female company a lot as of late.’

‘Perhaps my lord should go out during the day instead of at night.’

‘I work during the day, and most nights as well.’

She remembered how she had barely seen anything of her Lord Husband, who had been in his solar, the tower and the library most of the time, working morning until morning every day.

‘That cannot be good for your health, my lord.’

‘No matter what I do my health shall be better than L… than the health of everyone on the battlefield. I might go a bit blind, but I’ll reach old age.’

‘That does sound more attractive’, she agreed.

‘What, no glorifying the nobles heroes risking their life on the battlefield?’ he asked.

‘With all respect, my lord, I value and admire the men risking their lives for their lords and kings, but there is nothing glorious about losing your loved ones. The embrace of a corpse is a cold comfort. I rather take a blind or crippled man who I can spend my life with.’

‘Do you, but are they not the heroes of song?’

‘With all respect, but fighting doesn’t make them good people.’

‘You amaze me, Lady Stone, for someone who has seen little of life you appear to be quite sober and disillusioned.’

Sansa Stark had her illusions beaten out of her, but Alayne…

‘I haven’t been raised with a lot of songs, my lord. Normal men tell only normal tales, and so does history… Except for some undoubtedly embellished stories.’

‘I’m sorry you’ve never had those innocent years, my lady. Childhood is brief, and the rest of our lives exists of tales of misery.’

She had paid the price for her innocence. She had believed people were truthful and good, like her family and the people in the songs. Perhaps had she known more miserable tales, she would have learned enough, and not have been as naïve.

‘I rather be prepared for what comes, my lord.’

‘Winter comes, and we do well to prepare for the harsh conditions, do we not?’ he smiled.

Alayne faked a confused expression.

‘The words of house Stark. I believe words tell us a lot about the noble houses that hold them, for some reason, generation after generation lives by them.’

‘Oh yes, they do say that. I hope house Tyrell will live by their words, even in these difficult times.’

‘We strive to, as always’, the man nodded.

She could tell he wished for her to remain, but she shouldn’t remain outside alone with a man she didn’t know. She’d experienced enough to distrust everyone, no matter how pleasant they were. On the contrary, the more unpleasant, the more she trusted them.

Yet she could not deny there was a part of her that wished to stay. She felt a certain kind of comfortable around him, in a way she had not felt comfortable and safe around a man in a long time. And he provoked feelings in her she hadn’t felt since… since Sandor. Perhaps she could still have a little flirtation, and give into the fantasy of getting her Highgarden dream if even for a little while.

No. She had to keep her reputation without blemish.

‘I am tired, my lord. I hope you can forgive me?’

‘Of course, of course. You may go, I won’t keep you against your wishes. We are not King’s Landing.’

Alayne couldn’t hold in a laugh. He was without a doubt talking about Lady Margaery, but she could not help but laugh at his angry joke, especially since he had no idea she had been one of the most famous hostages in King’s Landing.

‘I am very glad of that, my lord. I bid you a good night.’

‘Good night to you too.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) Reply to a comment: “Problem, at 14 she would have flowered already and the wedding would be in the planing stages all ready. 6 months out at best. At worst.? Maybe 3 months out. Unless Joff gets poisined at his wedding to Sansa there is no escape. Plus, Ned would be much to busy to hunt out the mysteries of King's Landing. Cat would have had to come South with Ned and Sansa to plan the festivities. If she came later as in canon she could stay with Ned and the girls in the Tower of the Hand. Interesting problems of logistics if Sansa is a year or two older then canon if only from the 'flowering' aspect. Her age alter your entire back story. Better she is 12 . Even 12 is the far edge for flowering in any time period. There are two way stations between the Gate and the castle. Both to rest in short journeys and as shelter in case of storms. Just fyi.”  
> Well actually, and this where I pull out my History degree and my teaching degree for which I saw the biology of (pre)teens: The Menarche, a girl’s first period, can happen at any point in time. Extremely rare cases of girls as young as 5 and past 18 have been reported, but those are outliers so we’ll ignore them. But the average age currently is between 10-16 years. Not even a full century ago, the average age was between 12-16. Girls keep on getting their periods earlier and earlier, this is accredited to more hormones in water and food, a higher bmi (when people are heavier, they generally have higher estrogen levels, kicking off their puberty), and a more stressed lifestyle.  
> While many girls did get their period between 12-14 (which can be concluded since many girls in Ancient Rome married between the ages of 12-14 and you had to have your period before you could marry), it was not uncommon to get it later, with some historians pointing out that in some Medieval European countries the average age (as far as it could be measured in the time) was around 14-17, it’s possible that the average age for a first period rose in the Middle Ages since the diet of most people was less varied than it was in Roman times.  
> Sansa is around 14,5 when she gets her period in my story, which isn’t a strange age, therefore, the story can develop the way it did in GRRM’s work. Very long reply, I apologize, I’m not good at brevity, but I hope it was a useful reply 😊
> 
> 2) Cinderella is a French fairytale, and since the reach has some French inspiration, I pretended the Cinderella fairytale would exist and be about a peasant marrying a Gardener prince. Willas is said to read a lot and know a lot about lore and songs, so it’s a little nod to his book personality.


	3. Constellations and revelations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone, I’m entering my exam period (tbh I had so many papers this semester, I’m ruefully unprepared) so I’ll be posting shorter chapters because I still want to write and give you something to read but won’t be able to write a lot. Still hope you enjoy <3

After having lived in King’s Landing and with Lord Baelish the past few years, Alayne wasn’t used to the slow pace she got her news in Highgarden. She had never been trusted with a lot of information, but people were talking politics all the time. Here, as a lady in waiting, there was barely any talks of politics. She didn’t even catch anything through Lady Alerie anymore due to her absence.

Lord Baelish had only just sent her a second letter. Since he knew that ravens could get intercepted, he barely updated her on the situation regarding The Mad Mouse, only saying that the rogue knight hadn’t been caught yet.

He wrote a line or two on the end of the tourney and told her the names of those who had become Winged Knights. He wrote nothing about Sweetrobin, nothing on the status of things in King’s Landing, nothing on the plans he had for the Vale. Knowing so little frustrated her. She had a good life in Highgarden but it wasn’t a durable situation. She would have to return at some point, there was no future for her here. She also worried about the future Baelish had promised her. Ever since her dreams and the promises made to her about her future were shattered in King’s Landing, she had never fully dared to believe the promises someone made to her. She had hesitantly allowed herself to daydream about a future with Willas Tyrell and after those dreams had been ruined as well, she’d never allowed herself to fully believe anyone anymore. She didn’t believe Tyrion when he promised her safety, or Baelish when he promised her the Vale and the North.

She wanted to know what was going on. Was that future still possible or would Harry refuse her after the gossip and the mysterious disappearance.

_Perhaps he would marry the mother of his children._

She wanted to know. Knowledge at least gave her the feeling of being in control, even though she knew she had little control over her life.

Rest would not find her, she decided. She burnt the letter Baelish had sent her, watching the page crumble into sooty black dust. The hour was late, but she knew sleep wouldn’t find her unless she managed to divert herself a little. Her room held no books, and she didn’t know the location of the library to find one.

 _I should ask Amaryllis tomorrow,_ Alayne decided.

But she did know the location of the kitchens. Wondering if perhaps there were still some leftovers of dinner, she decided to venture out. As she walked through the hallways she thought back to more innocent times, when Sansa had snuck to the kitchen with Jeyne Poole and ate some leftovers of desert.

 _Where is Jeyne? Is she even alive? Does she still think of me the way I think of her?_ They’d shared almost all their time together in Winterfell.

She wasn’t the only person still out at this hour. She could see some lights from underneath the door, and hear sounds behind it.

Pushing it open, she froze when she spotted the man sitting at the large table where servants were usually chopping vegetables.

‘The lady snoops’, the man remarked.

‘I-‘ she was dumbstruck. She should have thought of it really. She was a newcomer. The natural daughter of one of the most politically dangerous men in Westeros, if anyone found her lurking in hallways, it would look suspicious.

 _Still a stupid bird_ , she chided herself.

‘Found any secrets?’

‘I apologize, my lord. I’m afraid my belly trumped my curiosity during my so called snooping’, she decided to say with an endearing smile.

‘It’s a good thing we make sure to hide our documents well. You wouldn’t have been able to find anything anyways’, he answered flippantly.

‘So, hungry?’

‘I- Yes, my lord.’

He had already claimed the olive oil and lemon cake leftovers. One of the leftover cakes stood in front of him.

He noticed her eying it.

‘Does the lady want a piece?’

‘If that pleases you, my lord.’

‘I should have never told you to call me lord, it’s boring already’, he smiled.

‘Come sit, take a plate. They’re in the cupboard over there.’

Perhaps he was friendly, but he wasn’t courtly. A true courtly man wouldn’t have questioned what brought a lady in waiting somewhere, nor would he have told her to fetch her own plate.

She took her plate and put it on the table, smiling gratefully when he put a piece of powdered cake on it.

‘What brings you here, my lord?’

‘Couldn’t sleep. And I wanted to walk. My legs were stiff from sitting all day’, he explained, a smirk crossing his face as if he’d just told something particularly funny.

‘I understand… And cake helps?’ she asked before taking a bite.

‘With stiff legs?’

‘I know it won’t help with that. With sleep, I meant.’

‘Oh, no, not really.’

‘My mo… septa always gave me some tea if I had a hard time falling asleep, or a cup of hot wine’, Alayne told. She cringed internally at the slip-up, she’d almost said mother.

‘I believe I know the tea you’re talking about. And yes, wine is known to be relaxing from time to time. I’m afraid those don’t work for me though.’

‘Perhaps some…’

‘And no, milk of the poppy doesn’t really either.’

This shocked her. What kind of man was he that the usual didn’t work? She went through all the drawers of her mind to find someone else with such a condition. She usually felt quite drowsy after drinking some glasses of wine, but Tyrion Lannister could keep on drinking without falling asleep. And Sweetrobin kept on needing more and more milk of the poppy for it to have the same effect on him… But that would have to mean that this Tyrell family member had to have built up a significant tolerance to it.

‘Anyways, I don’t want to fix it. I hate being drowsy. I like my mind sharp. I stay up because I worry, and that’s alright. These are worrying times.’

‘Me too.’

He eyed her curiously.

‘I don’t like taking substances either… And I was up worrying too. That’s why I decided to… snoop as you call it… and it had been some time since dinner so I got hungry.'

‘I’m both glad and saddened to hear you worry, my lady. I believed Lord Baelish loved chaos and times of crisis, since he likes to make use of them to his gain. I’m glad his daughter is not like him in that respect. But I’m sorry you can’t sleep because of it. It is quite exhausting to not be able to sleep.’

‘You appear to be quite wary of my father.’

‘Only a fool would not be wary of a man like him. But that’s not to say I don’t respect him. He has been a good friend of the Reach.’

‘I hope I can be too.’

‘You are our guest. And personally, I quite like you. But to gain the prestigious title of a friend of the Reach, one must help the Reach or help advance the goals of the Tyrell family. Can you do that?’

Alayne couldn’t, but Sansa could, she was the key to the North.

‘I’m afraid I’m but an insignificant woman. I don’t have a lot of impact.’

‘Don’t you?’

Alayne shrugged, poking the cake with her fork and take another bite.

‘Wouldn’t your father avenge you if harm came to you?’

‘Well yes, of course.’

‘Your father is the guardian of the Lord of the Vale, and is Lord of Harrenhal in his own right. He has enough men to pose a military threat, and an army of spies as well. So I’d say you have quite some power.’

‘But not in my own right.’

‘Does not the Queen Regent exercise her power through her son? She first had no power in her own right, only through her father, then through her husband, and now through her son.’

Alayne found herself nodding.

‘It’s about using the power you have, power through someone counts too’, he concluded.

‘Still teaching me cyvasse I see’, Alayne teased, which earned her a laugh and a nod from the man.

It made a lot of sense. Cersei ruling through the men around her. Baelish ruling through her aunt Lysa and now ruling through Sweetrobin… and… oh.

If she gained the North, backed by the soldiers of the Vale and Harry, Lord Baelish would be able to exercise control over the North through her since he had put her there and he would probably keep some of his men around.

_Did he promise I would get Winterfell? Or was he giving Winterfell to himself through me?_

First the hairnet, now Winterfell, the realisation she had been just as much of a pawn in his hands as in Cersei’s forced itself upon her more and more each day.

‘My lady?’

She realized she had been silent for a long time.

‘Forgive me, my lord. My mind wandered. You asked me how I could be a friend of the Reach? I admit my power will be through my lord father. So I guess that means marriage?’

‘But we already have his friendship, my lady’, he smiled.

‘Yes, but my father is a cunning man. If he decides it isn’t in his best interest to remain friends with the Reach, he might cut you off. People switch sides all the time. Did not the Tyrells switch from Targaryen to King Robert Baratheon, and from Renly Baratheon’s side to King Joffrey’s side?’

The young man nodded, staring at her with a glimmer in his eyes. She became aware of the stubble on his cheeks, and decided she quite liked it.

 _Soon I’ll be falling for savages. The wilder a man looks, the more interested I become,_ Alayne noted in amusement.

‘But if I were to marry, it would always be within my lord father’s interests to side with the Reach, and protect the Tyrells. On the other side, my father would be assured of your loyalty. And it’s a win for me, because I’m assured both shall do their best to keep me safe.’

‘Spoken like a true player’, the man agreed.

Alayne swelled with pride, but it did not take long to remember her stupid mistake of venturing out in the first place, so her ego remained within check.

‘What is it you do, exactly, my lord?’

‘Me? I take care of all kinds of things. Mostly paperwork and correspondence, a lot of it.’

‘Sounds tedious.’

‘It is.’

‘It sounds useful though.’

‘Not as useful as say feeding the people or fighting in the war or going to other houses for diplomacy.’

‘Well, it’s a system, isn’t it? Paperwork needs to be done just as much as mouths need to be fed. Imagine a house with bad ledgers. Especially around winter. If there is no good inventory of the food, and someone keeping an eye on it, that would be disastrous!’ Alayne brought out.

The man laughed in agreement, and did not let his curiosity seep through. How would a bastard, only recognized less than a year, know of the importance of finances and inventories? That was usually within the responsibilities of maesters and highborn ladies. He tried to reason that where she had grown up, she could have been prepared for a life working in a sept, perhaps doing paperwork, or assisting ladies. He reasoned that as Baelish treated her as his natural daughter, she could have taken over some of Lysa Arryn’s duties after her death.

‘You flatter me, but I am glad you think my job is useful.’

They fell into an awkward silence, both munching on their cake.

They were both tired, and for more similar reasons than they could suspect. Both worried about the future of themselves, their families and the realm.

_We’re not giggling like I did with Jeyne, or talking about boys like I did with Myranda, but this is its own kind of nice I believe, he’s the first man who is kind to me without it being of any apparent use._

‘Are you looking forward towards the Summer Solstice?’ Alayne asked to break the silence.

‘The what? Oh, yes. I’d almost forgotten about that.’

‘Have you? I thought everyone was looking forward to it. At least Amaryllis said so’, Alayne brought out, insecure about her information due to his frown. Were her sources wrong? Had she been lied to?

‘Oh, well, most do. I must admit it’s a nice party. It’s a nice night of dancing and jolliness, although I do think it is rather lavish.’

‘Yes, Amaryllis told me so’, Alayne confessed. Although she did wonder what brought him to say that. Amaryllis had admitted it was a decadent feast, but had insisted that everyone believed they deserved it and would to the people good.

‘Did she? Hm, some family members are quick talkers.’

‘Was it a secret? I wasn’t aware.’

‘Not a secret, not really. But I am curious what else she told you’, he declared with a smile, but this time Alayne noticed the wariness in his eyes. He wanted to know what she knew.

‘Oh, a little bit of this and that in between embroidering and music, not much at all. We’re ladies, we all talk of gossip and parties’, Alayne shrugged quickly. She hoped it was enough to dismantle the belief that her friend was a source of information and that they talked about serious stuff.

‘We’re ladies, as if that explains what you discuss together when you’re alone.’

‘Doesn’t it?’ Alayne asked in wonder, ‘It’s like they say men talk about men concerns. We talk about fun frivolous things like babies and love, parties and gossip and songs and fashion. Men talk about… whatever men talk about, their occupations and duties… and women probably’, Alayne shrugged, her face scrunching as she added the last bit.

Her explanation did not have the desired effect, instead his frown deepened.

‘Being a lady does not dictate what you talk about. I know men who love talking about love, songs, food and women, while I know women who love discussing politics and intrigues and other kinds of things. It doesn’t have to mean anything. Perhaps it’s what the septa’s have taught you, but in the Reach we’re a bit more flexible.’

Alayne had to agree, King Robert, Sweetrobin and Lord Mace Tyrell loved meaningless talk while The Queen of Thorns, Lady Alerie and Queen Cersei were schemers.

But a lady can hide behind her curtesy and the impression society has of her. Sansa had hidden behind a façade of being a sad broken and shy thing in King’s Landing, and a more forward and joyful bastard in the Eyrie. But both facades were farces created so she’d be able to survive as well as she could in those circumstances. It had always served her well. For the time being, she rather had this man believe she was a vacant foolish girl than an ambitious woman. Silly girls were no threat, daughters of Lord Baelish asking for information were. However, she had already admitted to being at least a bit strategical during their game of cyvasse.

‘If you say so, my lord. I am glad you allow your women such freedom. Personally, I listen to my dear father when he tries to instil upon me some kind of lesson, but otherwise I find talk of politics quite tedious.’

‘Yet you discussed political strategy with me twice, while we have only met thrice’, he shot back, taking her in. She felt very much like she was being weighed and measured. He was trying to guess her depths, searching for cracks and slip-ups.

‘Yet both times were because you brought it up, my lord’, she smiled sweetly.

‘Ah, that is true, I admit. I am sorry, force of habit. I hope I have not been boring you with my talk? I do have a tendency to do that’, he smiled.

It was a dangerous smile. It made his eyes sparkle, and make him look altogether so agreeable and kind and good natured that she instantly felt at ease despite having undergone his critical gaze and inquiry. Such a smile could get people to do a lot, she surmised.

‘Oh, not at all. How would you be boring? You have taught me so much already despite not needing to, and have been ever so kind in talking to me, entertaining me and even offering me cake’, Alayne answered shyly.

‘I am aghast, that’s not a habit of mine. Allow me to correct this woeful misconstruction of my character, now I must speak at least half an hour on astrology.’

Alayne couldn’t help but laugh by his self-deprecating humour, so long had it been since she heard anything like it. It made her think back on the Hound and Tyrion Lannister, they also hadn’t been kind to themselves, but their hearts had been a good deal better than those who liked themselves.

‘My lord, I beg of you, I shall not stop you if you wish to do so, but I would rather you don’t talk about the stars when we’re somewhere where we can’t see them.’

‘Don’t tell me you’d be interested.’

‘That would depend on your oratory skills, my lord’, Alayne smiled. She had always admired the night sky, but she had never bothered to learn anything about it. She’d always had better things to do, or so she thought. But since she was here and she had nothing better to do, she wouldn’t mind learning. She actually didn’t know if the topic could be interesting to her.

The man laughed and looked towards the kitchen door leading into the gardens.

A soft crease appeared between his eyebrows, but the smile remained on his face. She noticed a spasm of a muscle in his jaw. It made her wonder what he was thinking about.

Was he thinking about whether he would take the trouble to teach her? Was he considering going to bed instead of outside?

‘I shall accept the challenge, though I shall probably fail.’

‘My lord is humble’, Alayne smiled.

‘I’m not humble. I merely know where my strengths lie. Once I care a lot about something, I can’t reign it in and talk about it in a normal fashion.’

‘That’s alright, at least you have something you can be passionate about.’

‘We all must have something to be interested in, it keeps us going when life drags us down.’

‘If you have time for it, my lord.’

‘I don’t, actually, it’s been a long time since I read anything on a topic I’m interested in for leisure. Go ahead, I’ll put the cake back’, he smiled.

Alayne hesitated, but he shooed her away with his hands, and she quickly skipped to the door. She knew a part of her should be bothered by his lack of a first name. She was trusting an adult man while out on her own, it could end in tragedy. And yet, something about him felt familiar and safe. She was too stupid to actually believe she’d be safe somewhere, but she reasoned that in a place as populated as Highgarden, she could allow herself some time with him.

_This place is so populated, if I scream they’ll come to my aid. They won’t recognize the sound of my voice and the people in the Reach are chivalrous, they will protect a lady crying for help._

The fresh air was a delight, cool yet not cold. As the darkness embraced her, she could smell the perfume of all the different types of roses growing up against the castle walls. Right in front of the door was the herb garden, where the herbs were located in artfully designed patches between the grass. There was still plenty of space to sit or lie down on, without any surrounding trees to obstruct the view. It would serve them just fine, she reasoned.

She laid down, focussing her eyes on the sky. Tiny clusters of white dots graced the dark blue canvas, and in some spots, she could even see a milky haze of purple. The longer she looked, the more stars she saw. It made her dizzy and distracted, she barely heard the Tyrell man arriving before he awkwardly sat down next to her.

‘Ugh, I’m stiff from sitting down all day’, he quickly explained.

‘You should walk more in between, it helps’, she said easily as she looked up at him.

‘I should’, he smirked.

‘How do we start this?’

‘Choose.’

But it’s so… Big’, Alayne stuttered, looking up and the starry sky.

The man couldn’t contain his laughter.

‘Are you interested in the general rules of the functioning of our solar system, or do you want to start out with a couple of fun bits?’

‘Well, it seems like a good idea to start with something simple’, she admitted.

‘Well, it seems like a good idea to start with something simple’, she admitted.

‘Alright. So’, the man readjusted his position, chewing his bottom lip as he considered how to start his lesson.

She liked the pensive look on his face. He’d told her he worked all day, and the frown did seem to fit on his face.

She wondered what he was usually frowning about. He’d been present for the birth of almost every litter of dogs, but had told her he did paperwork. She wondered how he combined the two.

‘The sun rises in the east and sets in the west. That you know. As long as the sun is above the position of Westeros, we bask in her light, when she sets, the real colours and celestial bodies are revealed to us. They are always there, but are only visible once the bright sun has gone. Imagine the sun is like candles in a dark room, but in reverse. As long as the candles burn, you can see all of your furniture, when it’s out, you can barely see anything. But the sun is so bright, you can’t see instead.’

‘Like a piece of fabric with a motif, light or dark, sometimes you see the motifs better or less, but they’re always there.’

‘Yes.’

‘Now, our planet spins around. No one knows the pattern, the maesters haven’t figured out, but what I know is that those bodies up there’, he explained as he pointed upwards, ‘move. I’ve survived some winters now, and I have noticed that the positions of the celestial bodies change during winter, a sign that we’re spinning. The sun also shows that we spin, since we know winter is approaching because we get less daytime.’

Alayne nodded again. Did that mean the sun didn’t turn around them, but they around the sun? Perhaps the sun had a fixed position. No, that couldn’t be, if the celestial bodies only changed position every so many years, that would mean they would only see the sun once every couple of years.

‘Alright, now moving onto the fun part’, he promised with a smile.

Alayne nodded with a laugh.

‘So you see the moon over there?’ he asked her. She nodded, taking in the half full moon.

‘And you recognize the line in a very extended y-shape close beside it? That’s the moonmaid.’

Alayne was glad to finally know her name, she had already spotted the figure a couple of times.

‘It is said the moonmaid is named after a Valerian princess with white hair and purple eyes as dark as the night sky, who became the lover of the sun.’

‘Oh really?’

‘Yes, I even heard some pagans from across the sea belief she is a goddess and worship her.’

‘Oh, I didn’t know that.’

‘The Dothraki, allegedly. They also believe there’s a horse figure in the sky. Of course they do, they’re horse riders’, the man laughed. ‘They do have nice horses though’, he admitted silently once he was done laughing.

‘My lord has a love for many animals.’

‘I do’, he smiled while looking at her.

He was close enough to kiss, almost sitting against her so that he could properly guide her to look at certain parts of the sky.

Alayne quickly banished the thought. Kissing boys would do her no good.

'And if you follow the leg of the y-shape, going down, a bit to the left, you can see the Crone’s Lantern. You see it?’

‘Not exactly, where?’

‘Do you see those four bright stars over there? They’re enclosed in a faint golden haze.’

‘Oh… Oh! Yes, I do!’

‘That’s the Crone’s Lantern. The name is fairly obvious. The constellation lights up the dark in the same yellow hue as a lantern, and since we worship The Seven around here, we named it after the one god of the seven who is often depicted with a lamp.’

‘Seems like divine proof of their existence’, Alayne murmured.

She had once been a fervent believer in the Seven, not even being able to understand how her father could pray to Gods he didn’t know the name or purpose of. She had liked the logic of the Seven. She had understood the use of each of them. They seemed to fit. But she had lost her taste for the seven. There were no gods and no knights, there could not be if they let a world such as this one exist, with such misery. The gods had never heard her prayers. But at least, in the godswoods she had felt safe and at peace everywhere. There was still a heavenly solemn peace around a weirwood. She did believe that at least around the tree, the gods seemed to have some control.

But if they really existed in the sky… then perhaps she should consider praying to them with serious intent again.

‘Perhaps, but I dare bet both my hands that in other parts of the known world and the unknown world, that figure has a different name, depending on the religions of the people there.’

‘So you don’t see this as proof?’ Alayne asked.

‘I’m a studied man. I like reading scientific books. The maesters worship the seven so they see in them some kind of proof for their existence. What we see is the figures, but the figures don't come with name tags. We the people give the figures names. Take that one … over there. You see that reddish thing there?’

‘Where?’

He point again, but when she didn’t see it, he bent her head towards the good direction, gently taking her face between his soft hands as he pointed it out. Alayne nodded, quite flustered by the touch of his hot hands.

‘A Myrish eye would help us’, Alayne mused. She knew Maester Luwin had had one in Winterfell to study the stars and report back to the citadel. She’d seen it a couple of times while playing hide and seek with her siblings. She knew they shouldn’t waltz into the astronomy tower, but it was a great place to hide.

‘I know for a fact that in the days of Garth Greenhand, that star was named something else than it is now. Now it’s named Just Maid, after the sword gifted by the Maiden to Ser Galladon of More. It’s said that after slaying the dragon, he gave the sword back, and it took its place on the night sky, still glowing from the heat of the fire of the dragon Ser Galladon decapitated.’

‘How do you know?’

‘We have a few written sources left, in and on the old tongue’, he admitted.

‘You know the old tongue?’ Alayne asked in surprise.

This man had a very extensive skillset: bringing puppies to this earth, cyvasse, politics, administration, astrology and now language! She remembered the old crown of Winter had runes of the First Men on it. She had never asked her real lord father about them though.

‘No. We only know fragments. Some of the best maesters in the Reach interested in linguistics did try to crack the language for hundreds of years . As we have an extensive amount of written documents in the Reach, especially in Oldtown, we tried to compare the very limited documents in the old tongue - can’t be more than thirty or something - to the earliest version of the common tongue. The scholars tried to find similarities, like words we adopted. There’s words we have now, that were written and pronounced quite differently hundreds of years ago. They actually hail from the Old Tongue. But it’s very hard. So we only know a couple of snippets. Luckily for the maesters with their astrology chain have a text in one of the earliest versions of the common tongue about astronomy. In the text someone complained that all the old names for the constellations and stars were replaced. Because of it all maps of the stars had to be rewritten and he was constantly switching them up when describing them.’

‘That’s amusing. And impressive’, Alayne smiled.

‘Yes, take for example the Stallion. You can’t really see him well, he’s already turning in position, but once he was called the Horned Lord.’

Alayne absorbed the information as the man talked on. He had a very soothing voice. It was clear he didn’t mean to harm her virtue, and he proved that he was indeed hard to silence once he started talking. But she really enjoyed it.

There was no political game, no gossip, no intrigue, just some innocent ancient stars and the stories surrounding them. They were told to her without motive, just for her entertainment and his pleasure. She was even relaxed enough to lie down in the grass. She could feel her dress absorbing the dew, but she cared not. It was still a comfortable night. Sometimes she grew curious, asking him for names of stars and figures she had found herself, or had noticed before when she was looking at the night sky. He named them all, and appeared to know the story behind most.

However, as they continued, she felt herself growing more relaxed, her limbs became heavy, and she noticed the signs of a fast approaching sleep within herself. By her third yawn, she couldn’t deny it anymore.

‘And so those lovers were separated in life, but united in the sky’, he ended his story after describing yet another constellation.

‘Perhaps though, it is time for us to separate in life’, Alayne admitted. ‘Since I’m quite tired’, she added, suppressing another yawn.

‘Yes, we had better’, he admitted.

She hopped upright, hoping to awaken herself by moving in an energetic manner.

‘Come on, my lord Tyrell’, she announced, extending a hand to help him upright. She did remember him being stiff after all.

‘What, immediately?’ he laughed.

‘Well, otherwise we are going to fall asleep right here. At least I will, and then the servants will definitely talk tomorrow morning.’

‘Oh no, that’s definitely bad’, he admitted. ‘You may go. I believe I’m going to stay here for a little while longer.’

‘You always stay behind, and you always complain about being tired, my lord. Perhaps you should sleep some more, come on’, she smiled kindly. She was supposed to be lowborn and a daughter of Lord Baelish, she could allow herself to be a bit more bold and a bit more teasing. And after their nice moments together, she did feel more at ease around him.

‘My lady, I appreciate your concern for my wellbeing but…’

‘No ifs, no buts. Sometimes a man needs to heed a woman’s council.’

‘Preaching like a septa, I see’, the man laughed without making any move to stand up

‘Come my lord, I see that you are trying to find a way around it.’

Reluctantly, he took her hand, and with a lot of effort, he got upright.

He was close now, and their hands were still united as they stood face to face. He was almost two heads taller than her, and she was the tallest woman she knew.

Not as tall as the Hound, she’d been right at guessing that, but he was a lot taller than she’d suspected.

‘Shall we return, my lord?’ she offered breathlessly.

His gaze flew to the door at quite a distance away.

The man took a deep breath, finally resigning his determination to remain.

The first step was hesitant, and he made wide gestures with his arms rubbing his sides and back to demonstrate how stiff he was.

‘I told you, just go, I’ll catch up', he smiled.

‘I don’t mind, my lord. Not after you were so kind to spend such a long time teaching me about the stars.’

‘It was as much for your pleasure as mine, my lady. No need to be so courtly and grateful just because someone treats you right’, he groaned, voice strained.

Alayne clenched her jaw shut. She had not expected that answer. She had been so used to using a non-offensive tone with nobles during her time in King’s Landing that she had never realized just how weak and frightened it made her sound. It had protected her in King’s Landing, so she had kept on using it, but although being courtly and respectful was a good thing to be, it was probably strange that she was so polite. Especially since she sometimes switched back and forth between her courtly language and her teasing tone.

‘I apologize’, she smiled, ‘but I still stand behind my viewpoint.’

The next step, he stopped doing the dramatic gestures. She noticed he always took his step with his left leg, adding his right every second step. He never interchanged his legs, and seemed to lean heavily on one side.

Perhaps he had a bad sitting posture, she reasoned.

Perhapsher exhaustion and sleepiness had slowed her mind but her reflexes were still fine. So when he took a stumble the second the grass went over into cobblestone, she quickly reached out for him. He didn’t collide with the ground as he would have, had she not helped, but he did land on his knees, cursing as he did so.

‘Damned blasted fucking knee! Argh.’

Her brain was doused in cold water. Bad leg, bad knee, breeding hounds, loving horses, studious, Tyrell looks, claiming to be boring, involved in politics. It all started adding up in her head. And it hit her all at once: this was Willas Tyrell.

This was the man she was supposed to marry once upon a time.

"Call me lord Tyrell", he’d said. Well damned, he had meant thé Lord Tyrell, the son and heir of the most important Tyrell Lord of all: Mace Tyrell. Oh, he must have thought he was so clever telling her she could call him a Tyrell lord. There were so many little Tyrell lords she’d believed he was just someone from a cadet branch.

He’d known who she was, yet had not informed the daughter of one of his best allies of who he was.

Another thorned Tyrell. No wonder the Queen of Thorns had liked him. He was clever, she granted him that.

And damn the seven, she wanted to hate him but he was kind too, and had been considerate. But not considerate enough to trust her.

He was almost a decade older, she reminded herself, and a player of the game of thrones. He had been ruling the Reach in his father’s absence, he had been raised to be a lord, and had been guided by his clever grandmother during his entire life. No wonder.

Alayne took a step away from him. She had felt so at ease, so at rest. And now he had betrayed her confidence. And she felt all the more furious because he _hadn’t even lied_ while doing it.

‘Everything alright, Lord Tyrell? I hope your leg doesn’t offer you too much trouble’, Alayne asked coldly.

His head snapped up, looking at her face with a resigned expression.

‘I see my charade has crumpled. I apologize, my lady. Perhaps, you could be so kind as to give me my cane?’ he asked, pointing towards the kitchen door where indeed, a cane was leaning against the wall, cloaked in darkness.

‘Of course, my lord’, she breathed politely, retrieving his cane. It was a mightily gorgeous piece of wood, ivory and leather, made for comfort.

‘I should have told you. But in the stables I didn’t get the opportunity to, and afterwards I.;. Selfishly wanted to relax without having to be the Lord of Highgarden. These nightly moments, you see, are my reprieve from duty. I didn’t want anyone to burden me with any expectations or questions, and the idea that I could have that relaxation together with someone, instead of alone, was too nice an opportunity. I abused it, I apologize.’

He did appear to be sincere, she reasoned, but she could not help her feelings.

‘My lord is free to do as he pleases. Though I do wish I could have given you the proper respect you deserve, my lord.’

‘You’ve done enough "my-lording", considering your respects conveyed, please I much rather have your forgiveness than your respect.’

Alayne swallowed her bottom lip as her heart picked up speed. That was new. All others wanted respect and reverence.

‘My lord is good and kind’, she said quietly.

She knew that she should not be hard on him. She herself was not honest about her identity either, but she at least, had proper reason to hide hers.

‘Will you manage now, my lord?’

‘I will, I thank you. But that was no answer.’

‘Yet it was, my lord’, Alayne replied calmly before walking to the door.

He understood her perfectly.

She didn’t forgive him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Stallion is also known as the Horned Lord among the free folk.


	4. Becoming allies

‘Alayne, wake up please.’

Alayne awoke in confusion, Amaryllis leaning over her with her hands on Alayne’s shoulders.

‘What is it?’ Alayne asked, sitting upright with worry.

A quick look outside told her it was a dark and rainy morning, and nowhere near their usual hour to rise now that they didn’t have to tend to Lady Alerie.

‘It is Lord Willas… He has summoned you’, Amaryllis explained. Confusion was written on the young girl’s face. She couldn’t fathom why the most important man present in Highgarden would require the presence of a lady he’d never met before.

‘Oh. When do I have to meet him?’

‘He said you could break your fast first, but he wanted to meet you before ten.’

Alayne nodded, throwing the blankets off of her body.

‘Alayne… Why does Lord Willas wish to meet you?’

‘I don’t know, exactly.’

‘But it’s weird. You never even met him, or did you?’

‘I did’, Alayne confessed. Saying she didn’t would just make it stranger and increase Amaryllis’ need to speculate and gossip.

‘You did, but when?’

‘I met him just yesterday in the kitchens, but I didn’t know it was him.’

That was probably the meeting that made him decide to invite her to his private chambers. She should’ve known it was a bad idea to be cold and short with a lord. Now she was going to get her punishment. He had been pleasant as long as he could decide the terms of their interactions and she had been compliant. But she had resisted, and now she would get put in her place. Would he demote her? Would he send her back to her father?

‘You didn’t know it was him? How can you even _not_ know?’

‘As you said, I never even met him. How could I know? All I knew was that there was a man in the kitchens and that he was talking to me.’

Amaryllis hadn’t considered it. Having lived in and around Highgarden for most of her life, was unfathomable someone wouldn’t know what the reigning family of Highgarden looked like. Especially if the member in question was the most famous crippled man in all of Westeros.

‘But… His leg!’

‘Well, that’s how I found out. Eventually’, Alayne grumbled as the other girl helped her into her dark blue dress. She really didn’t feel like wearing a green dress or anything with a flower pattern today. 

‘But what happened in the kitchens that he wants to see you now?’

‘We talked. But I can only really know his reason once I hear it from his lips’, Alayne shrugged, dragging a brush through her long brown hair as she sat down in front of a mirror. In the faint light of morning, she could distinguish just the faintest line of colour difference around her crown.

 _I didn’t bring any colorant! And it’s been almost a month since I last dyed my hair,_ Alayne realized.

She would have to discreetly look for colorant. She tried to calm her nerves by telling herself she still had plenty of time to do so, as she’d never noticed it before herself and only today noticed the slightest difference. Someone who didn’t know she dyed it would probably put it down to the lighting and natural causes.

She didn’t have time for an elaborate hairstyle and quickly twisted a couple of strands away from her face in the popular fashion of the Reach, before she finished her morning routine and went downstairs with Amaryllis for breakfast.

Amaryllis, ashamed that her friend and fellow lady-in-waiting had made such a mistake, took the full blame of not informing the girl beforehand, and now didn’t stop talking about what all Tyrells looked like and how they all preferred to be treated.

Lady Alerie was courtly and had a correct, polite and familial though professional relationship with her ladies. She showed interest in all, but there was a quiet order of how much each lady was trusted with information and certain duties. And none really knew a lot.

Lord Mace used servants as servants and treated them like any other lord, unless they were family. He trusted them with information and their tasks, trusting them to be reliable aids that were utterly devoted to his house.

Ser Loras didn’t care for the servants and pretended they were invisible. This reflected in how he was the only member without a personal staff, preferring to take full care of everything himself, except for his dress. His valet helped him dress and was then sent away for the remainder of the day.

Ser Garlan and Lady Leonette were polite to their staff, often giving them gifts and showing interest in their lives. Their staff was still small, but many were eagerly waiting until they would take up residence in Brightwater Keep, hoping to get more important positions there. Garlan often appointed friends and family members, unless the jobs had to do with taking care of his personal toilette and the cleaning of his room, this was reserved for those of lowlier birth.

Lady Margaery was always surrounded by the biggest flock of servants and had the largest staff of them all. She had musicians, ladies-in-waiting, bards, painters, people in charge of her correspondence, teachers, tailors who were always kept at ready in case she needed a new dress and a septa so that, if she got married, her prior purity could have been vouched for.

And then there was Willas Tyrell who had a very small staff. Many of his staff overlapped with his other family members. The same septons and lords advising him, used to advice Lord Mace. The maesters had been his tutors in his youth and had helped heal him after his accident and were still regularly consulted, although Willas consulted them more than Lord Mace did. The lords weren’t as much advisors or servants, as they were direct representatives of their own houses and regions, advising him on what decisions would be most approved by their local lords and smallfolk.

‘When Mace makes a decision, he makes it either alone or with a select group of lords. And then he tells the other high lords, who need to inform their local lords. And when there’s trouble with an announcement like raised taxes, requirements for extra troupes or a certain law, the local lords complain to their high lords, who then complain to Lord Mace, and then he readjusts the command. When Lord Willas temporarily took charge, he invited all major houses to send one of their sons to represent all regions of the reach to get a good understanding of all undercurrents, local politics and trouble. There’s barely any trouble with implementation when Lord Willas makes a decision. So really, I think it boils down to a valet and a couple of scribes that only work for him. And they’re all very quiet and boring. Never talk to anyone about him or anything. And they’re all old and boring.’

That’s a good thing for a servant to be, Alayne mused, quiet and dutiful. If one is to become Lord Paramount, one wouldn’t want many talkative servants but a select number of quiet ones.

In her head, she had a hard time uniting the three visions of Lord Willas.

First, there had been the chivalrous prince fond of poetry, destined to save and marry her.

Then there had been the handsome, funny dog-breeder who enjoyed spending time with her.

And now there was this very strategical player who united the charm of his siblings with the clever cunning of his grandmother.

She wondered how he could be all. She couldn’t imagine someone being so involved in politics and careful with information around other people, to be chivalrous and kind. Nor could she imagine someone who didn’t mind getting their hands dirty with dog placenta, signing documents of the utmost importance with those same hands.

It would be the same as… Alayne being the same girl she was three years ago. That girl had loved poetry and needlework and had been full of dreams. That girl was gone now. In her place stood Alayne, a bastard daughter with an idea of fun that would have made little Sansa’s nose wrinkle, and a love for teasing boys. And once Alayne’s part was played an older Sansa would appear, more practical and pragmatic, cleverer, with none of the fantasies Little Sansa had had. She would be a player in the game of thrones, taking back her old home of Winterfell.

Porcelain, ivory, steel.

But, were those three really separate? Didn’t she still enjoy embroidery and music?

She had only outgrown the stage of childlike hope and naivety through experience. And hoped to grow even more in time so she would finally go from being a stupid little pawn to a player.

Her spoon clattered into her bowl.

‘Alayne, what is it?’

‘Nothing, I’m just clumsy.’

A pawn, like Willas Tyrell who was used by his family to claim the key to the North.

A player, like Willas Tyrell was trying to be after years of learning from his cunning grandmother the way she was now trying to learn from Lord Baelish. He had gone through all the stages she had and beyond. He had been portrayed as the sweet noble pawn she was, then a politically aware person who didn’t have a lot of power, and now he had reached the stage she could only dream of reaching.

But he had years on her, and the benefit of being a man and having been prepared for the role of a player his entire life.

Suddenly their talk of influence and power yesterday became even less innocent than it had already been. He’d been advising her, a player to a pawn wanting to become one. 

If she was smart, she’d play along with whatever game he wanted to play, and observe his tricks. If he was willing to share his tips, she would do well to listen so she could use them later on.

‘Can you bring me to him, Amaryllis?’

‘Of course.’

‘He works in Lord Mace’s solar’, Amaryllis supplied as they climbed the grand marble stairway.

Alayne nodded in silence, following her friend to the fourth floor.

No wonder he said he didn’t go out a lot, climbing all those stairs mustn’t be easy with a bad leg.

Her mind briefly darted to her brother, Bran. He had it even worse. he couldn’t walk at all, and most staircases in Winterfell were older; worn, uneven and smaller than the staircases in Highgarden. It would not have been an easy life for him, had he lived instead of being killed by Theon Greyjoy.

Alayne tried to keep track of the lay-out of the building, and when Amaryllis halted, her suspicion that the solar of the Lord Paramount lay right on top the one of his Lady Wife was confirmed.

‘I’ll leave you to it’, Amaryllis nodded before leaving.

Alayne wondered why she was always the only one taking up causes and helping people, when everyone always left her to fend for herself, unless they had something to gain from helping her.

Because doing the right and virtuous thing doesn’t mean doing the easy thing. If all good people give up on doing good because there are more bad people, everything will become even worse, she told herself. She would lead by example.

She silently observed the heavy rosewood doors. On each door, four images were carved in decorative squares. She recognized Harlen Tyrell bending the knee for Aegon the Conquerer, and who must be Ser Osmund Tyrell retaking Highgarden. She also recognized the Tyrell coat of arms, but she didn’t recognise the other images.

She was slightly nervous, but was determined not to let it show. She hadn’t been the one lying. Well, actually, she had and he hadn’t, but her life could be in danger if the truth came out, while his omission of the truth served no purpose but for him to enjoy himself.

She knocked.

‘Come in.’

Wrapping her hand around the stem of the rose-shaped door handles, she pulled the door open and entered the room.

It was amazingly large. There was a large balcony across of the door. On her right side was a space with two large L-shaped desks across of each other near a wall entirely covered with books and scrolls. In the middle of the room stood a long table surrounded by chairs where the meetings were probably had, and on the right side was a long table with weird shapes rising towards the sky, obscured by a white sheet.

‘Lady Alayne, thank you for coming so quickly’, the Lord started. He was walking towards her, with an ornate crutch instead of a cane. Yet, despite needing more support today, he looked more powerful than she’d seen him before. If he’d been dressed like that before, she would have never mistaken him for anyone else but the heir of Highgarden. His posture was almost perfectly straight, his hair combed and his short beard glossy with beard oil. He wore an amazing golden roses patterned emerald tunic with a standing collar and cuffed sleeves in the style she'd seen his family wear in King's landing. She noticed the same gilded rose brooch his brothers Loran and Garlan wore was pinned to his breast. Underneath the cuffed sleeves, billowy sleeves tumbled freely until the point where they were buttoned around his wrists with golden rosebud-buttons.

His shoulders looked even larger in his current dress.

He bent down, taking her hand and brushing his lips against her cold skin. This close, she could spot the hazel flecks in his blue eyes. Lord Mace and Lady Alerie truly had created a perfect mix of both houses in the shape of their first child, it had made it harder for her to recognise the Tyrell features in him.

He wasn’t the most beautiful Tyrell, but his kiss certainly did make her feel something the other Tyrell men didn’t.

_Get your act together Alayne, don’t go fawning over this man you’re supposed to be angry with._

‘My lord’, Alayne curtsied. ‘I came as soon as I could.’

‘Sit down, my lady. I don’t do my business standing up. We might as well be comfortable’, he invited as he sat down on the closest chair of the long table.

‘Yes, my lord.’

She decided to sit across of him, instead of next to him, putting some distance between them.

‘I assume you know why I summoned you?’ he asked.

So she _was_ here to apologize for her behaviour.

‘I am so sorry, my lord. I wasn’t myself last night. I have been treated with nothing but civility and kindness yet I have failed to recognize your position and address you the way I should have. And once I knew I failed to be civil. It was most unbecoming and unladylike of me. I apologize.’

She kept her eyes fixed on the table, hands neatly folded in her lap, but as the silence dragged on, she risked a quick glance across the table.

He was analysing her, his face clouded. 

‘No.’

‘I beg your pardon, my lord. I don’t understand.’

‘No, I didn’t mean I expected an apology from you. It confuses me why you think there needs to be one.’

Alayne just about managed to prevent herself from gaping like a fish. Apologizing always worked when something had happened in the past.

‘I admit to heaving mislead you, and for no justifiable reason. As one of my guests, and daughter of a friend of House Tyrell, there was no reason for me to hide my identity. I did not wish to hurt a friend of my house, and it was clear last night I did exactly that. I do not wish to sour the bonds between our houses. However, the past is in the past. I cannot undo my actions, so I summoned you to ask you how I might make it up to you instead.’

Alayne bit her lip, considering his words carefully.

‘My lord was under no obligation.’

‘I consider myself to be under one, regardless of your opinion of what I should feel. So why don’t you just tell me, my lady? You had no problem talking freely to me before. We are still more or less of the same station: both children of Lord Paramounts.’

He was being humble to pacify her, a technique she had frequently used herself. There was no way they were equal; she was a bastard, he a legitimate heir, her supposed father of inferior birth, and his from a long strong lineage. But if he wished she treated him with less reverence, she wouldn’t insult him by ignoring his wishes.

And perhaps, she spitefully thought, she would test just how far his offer went.

‘I wouldn’t even know what to ask for, Lord Willas.’

‘Now we’re talking’, he smiled.

‘I hadn’t really thought what could substitute as repayment either, I must admit. I was intending to let the slighted party determine the size of the retribution’, he admitted.

Alayne nodded, taking the time to reflect. His crime wasn’t large, she had only reacted as violently as she did because she felt betrayed by what she had thought was an acquaintance. And the hurt had been magnified by her embarrassment at having failed to recognise him and appearing before her once intended betrothed as a bastard.

Her eye fell once again upon the shrouded table.

‘May I ask what is hidden underneath the cloth, my lord?’

‘The map of Westeros… There are currently a lot of pieces on the table. I keep track of every house and… It’s kind of confidential.’

Another lack of trust. Although perhaps it was a wise move. One could never trust all servants, there were little birds everywhere. And Lord Baelish probably only showed the Tyrells the bare minimum of his cards needed to instil trust as well. Admittedly, being uncareful with information was how she’d gotten her father killed in King’s Landing, and now she was very careful to show any opinion of her own or let slip any piece of information, so really, she understood.

‘I trust few people. I find that trusting as few people as possible is what guarantees our safety.’

Alayne nodded.

‘But perhaps… I take it you deserve some trust. After all, allyships are built on trust.’

Alright, perhaps he was a bit more naïve than Lord Baelish. He never trusted anyone, not even her, and he already trusted her most.

Lord Willas pushed himself upright. From her seated position, Alayne noticed that he didn’t wear the usual high boots and tight breeches all other men wore. Instead his boots were low, and his breeches looked soft and loose.

Probably so he could get them over his bad leg in an easier way, she reasoned.

Her eyes hastily travelled further, skipping from his legs to his face. He gave her an uncomfortable smile before he walked over to the table.

Alayne slowly followed.

He was different. More serious and polite, but also more insecure. It was like all his personally had seeped out of him overnight.

But then she had changed her tone too, she’d dropped Alayne’s more open and jesting personality and reinstated her more stiff and courteous manners.

They were both acting.

‘My lady, may I just ask a couple of questions first?’

‘My lord is free to do as he pleases.’

He took a deep breath before looking up at her.

‘I shall treat you as an ally, the way I do Lord Baelish. But I wish to know how much he knows first. Just as a precaution. What do you know of the situation in King’s Landing?’

Littlefinger didn’t tell her a lot. She hoped she would manage his questions.

‘The Faith Militant has imprisoned Dowager Queen Cersei and Queen Margaery. I heard Lord Tyrell is camped outside of the city, awaiting the trial of your sister. I know Dragonstone has fallen, thanks to your brother Ser Loras. During my journey here I understood he was grievously injured. He was very brave.’

‘The West Coast?’

‘The new Greyjoy King has been attacking the islands along the coast. He is below the Shield Islands now, is he not?’

Alayne had only heard about Euron Greyjoy in the Reach, but he needn’t know that.

Lord Willas carefully placed his crutch against the table and drew back the sheet with care, trying to leave all the pieces on the map.

Sansa had seen a similar one in her father’s solar, back when she used to play hide-and-seek with her siblings, but it had been more flat, and more detailed in the North, while this one was more detailed in the south.

There were soldiers and boats of all shapes and sizes everywhere, even on the seas.

Right where she stood, she noticed a fleet of ships with the figure of a grape cluster. The Redwyne Fleet. It appeared to be going South.

Alayne’s eyes travelled South, and were shocked to see another fleet of ships even closer to Oldtown with a squid figure. Greyjoys. The Greyjoys were near the Arbor and Oldtown. In her mind, they were still somewhere around the Shield Islands.

A small Tyrell army was facing towards Oldtown, but still appeared to be far away.

She didn’t even feel tempted to look at the rest of the map.

She was supposed to be safe in Highgarden.

‘Is the Reach in real danger?’

‘Yes.’

Well, the honesty she wanted was certainly present now.

Alayne looked towards King’s Landing, Lord Tyrell’s troups were still stationed there.

The army was split. Some were still at Dragonstone. Some were at King’s Landing, some appeared to be in the most Northern part of the Reach, probably those returning from Dragonstone, and then there was already a group quite far South.

In King’s Landing it had been safe to play dumb, but as a daughter of Littlefinger, she would do well showing her intelligence. And, she reasoned, if she said useful things Lord Willas would hopefully consider her a useful ally.

‘I’m no military strategist, but I’ve heard the Redwyne fleet is strong, and so is your army.’

Lord Willas’ face was sombre as he took a chair and sat down at the table. There were bags underneath his eyes.

He had told her he worked long days buried in paperwork and slept little. And she had heard him before when they were in Lady Alerie’s room: dropping things, cursing, hawk squeaking. It finally made sense. His sister on trial in King’s Landing, his youngest brother gravely injured, his father in King’s Landing potentially going to war with the King, raids on the Western shore, and now Oldtown, the centre of all knowledge in Westeros, under attack. There were few reasons to smile.

‘Yes.’

‘I don’t understand why you are worried then.’

He pointed towards a blue arrow pointing in the opposite direction of the fleet.

‘I’m afraid my father has never learned me to read maps like these’, Alayne admitted.

‘Of course, I should have known. Forgive me, my lady. Arrows signal strong winds. There’s a strong wind the fleet is sailing against. It slows them down.’

They were far behind on the Greyjoy fleet, and the land army was probably quite slow as well. It was a good army, but they would have to reach Oldtown before they could protect it, and at present, the Greyjoys were leagues ahead.

‘Will they get there on time?’

He gave her a genuine albeit small smile, clearly impressed that she caught onto the problem so quickly.

‘Time will tell. I pray every day that the winds will turn in our favour.’

As she followed the distance the ships still had to go, her eyes fell on a dragon figure.

‘A Targaryen?’ Alayne wondered.

‘Not exactly. Jon Connington has come back together with the Golden Company. It is said he is reclaiming his old house. But I have no piece for his house, so I use a Targaryen one instead, as he was good friends with Rhaegar and I’m not expecting to use the Targaryen figure for any other reason.

Alayne nodded.

‘But his home is in the Stormlands, he would not be a threat’, Alayne reasoned, absorbed with the map. She missed the look he gave her. She knew an impressive amount about noble houses.

‘He wouldn’t, but I like placing everything on the map, even everything going on in the North although it doesn’t directly affect me. An informed man is worth a dozen.’

‘That is very true. Knowledge is power’, she agreed, her eyes travelling North.

It had been a good move to show her the map. It showed him what she was interested in an knowledgeable of. Her eyes noticed the troupes, but not the figures in Old Town, and she didn’t question the dragon piece. She also didn’t show a lot of interest in the capitol. But she did look at the Vale and what lay beyond. Probably because the North was of a more direct importance to her. She walked over to the other end of the table, studying the pieces of the army of King Stannis close to Castle Black.

‘What is this?’

‘His army is moving. I don’t know why or whereto. Few of his decisions make sense to me. Why allow Dragonstone to fall. Why not return to take it back? He is a king without a castle, in a region he has no clear reason to be in… Perhaps does your… father know?’

Alayne shook her head.

‘At least not as far as he told me’, she decided to say. She knew that if she wanted information, she had to give as well. ‘He isn’t really focussed on Stannis.’

She had heard him talk about many players, but rarely if ever Stannis Baratheon.

But he had talked of the North. He thought he could easily win Winterfell for her with the army of the Vale. That indicated that he didn’t consider either the Boltons or Stannis Baratheon to be able to defend Winterfell. And Winter was fast approaching, so he must be really optimistic about his odds. No wise man would attack Winterfell in Winter. Its defences, although probably partially broken down, could stand weeks of besieging if not months. And an army would not surviving camping out there for weeks in the midst of snow storms.

Unless Littlefinger planned on letting Winter claim its victims, eradicating Stannis Baratheons forces during the months or years of cold bitterness while the Boltons starved in isolation in Winterfell. She doubted the Boltons would have prepared for Winter like the Starks did.

‘Lady Alayne, I have a proposition.’

She looked up, eyes wary and expression neutral.

‘To reinstate the trust that is broken, and because we are both families in charge of taking care of our people in Winter, I wondered if we could work together and perhaps exchange ideas.’

It was a wonderful opportunity, Alayne realized, to become a consultant to the next heir of Highgarden. But she wondered why he would propose it. Was it really because he wanted to heal their trust by working together? Why consult her when he had an army of maesters at his disposal, and the experience of himself, his father and his grandmother on winters?

‘You come from the North. You have lived in the Eyrie. And surely, you’re old enough to have experienced Winter. I rather take advice on how to deal with winter from someone from the Northern regions than from a Southern born and raised septon.’

‘But my lord has experienced winters himself.’

‘I have. But this has been the longest summer ever. I do not doubt that when winter comes, although we know little of the seasons, it will be long and harsh. During my lifetime, we haven’t suffered much under winter, which makes it all the more frightening. We are preparing for winter, and have been, but I want to know what winters are like up north. I suspect even the Reach will have a Northern style of winter, or worse.’

Alayne had never heard a lord discuss winter. It never appeared to be on their mind. And if it was, it was only an afterthought. Lord Baelish was only just starting to build his reserves, and was being secretive about it, even to her. She highly suspected him to be creating those reserves to profit off of all unprepared lords, instead of creating them out of care for his smallfolk. She herself had wondered about winter. With all the wars, no one had a lot of reserves, and many homes were destroyed. Many could die.

Lord Willas cared about winter and his people. And he gave her the opportunity to help the people. Her heart almost sang the words of her house. The promise. The threat.

_Winter is coming._

And finally, the wisest men were preparing.

She knew that it would be risky. Somebody raised religiously would only know about her own personal experience of winter.

But her blood was Stark blood, and her education had been a Stark education. She knew the stories of a hundred winters. She held the information gathered by generations of Starks. She could help. It could endanger her, but her life had been endangered many times over. This time, she could endanger it for the good of the people.

She would.

Winter was coming, and that was the Stark speciality.

_And even if they find out, they’re Littlefinger’s allies. They would keep me. And if I help them and stay here during winter, I’ll have protected myself to boot._

She was still slightly hurt, but he had repaid her by giving her knowledge and power. She wasn’t stupid.

‘I am honoured. I’ll assist you any way I can, my lord.’


	5. The Autumn Harvest

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for the sweet comments!
> 
> My exams are done so I can update more frequently (or so I hope).
> 
> This was meant to be a short story: Let Alayne go to Highgarden, have her and Willas fall in love but unable to marry, then have her identity be discovered, and boom marriage and HEA. Well, that idea kicked the bucket. This is now officially a long fic. So, welcome to my long story now :p

The golden green liquid reflected the plush clouds above her, the reflection of the bright autumn sun almost blinding her as she looked in her porcelain teacup.

Her mind was blissfully empty as the golden rays heated the bare skin of her arms and the crown of her hair.

‘Alayne?’

A tremor rippled over the surface of the golden green liquid, making the reflection of the sunrays sparkle.

Another tremor made the liquid climb the edges of the cup until it spilled over on the rose painted saucer.

Looking up, she found Amaryllis’ sharp blue eyes looking at her.

‘Yes?’

‘I’ve called your name thrice already.’

‘I apologize. I was distracted.’

‘And are you going to tell me the reason for this distraction?’

‘I wasn’t really thinking of anything, just looking at the reflection of the sky. It’s silly, I know.’

‘You have been distracted ever since you came back from that meeting. Are you finally going to tell me what he discussed with you, or not?’

‘Lord Tyrell wishes to know more about life in the North, and how we deal with winters. He is a very clever and involved lord. He wants to do everything within his might to help his people in winter.’

‘Hmm. Sounds like him. Why you though?’

‘I’m the only person around from the Northern regions.’

‘Yes but why not summon a maester from the North?’

‘They’re scarce, I think, with the war, and I believe he doesn’t want people to know he’s taking winter seriously while other lords aren’t.’

‘Do you know a lot about it?’

‘I hope I know enough to serve him’, Alayne answered dutifully.

‘Talking about serving House Tyrell, do you want to help with the Solstice preparations?’

Alayne nodded eagerly, glad to change to subject.

‘You don’t have any talks with our lord anymore today, do you?’

‘No. I’m free.’

‘Perfect. Come, stop staring at that tea and drink it. There’s a lot to do.’

Amaryllis dragged her to the stables, where they were given two brown mares – apparently bred by Lord Willas – which they mounted so they could quickly travel to an orchard filled with pears and gleaming apples.

The orchard was already filled with people of all ages filling baskets full of apples that were loaded on carriages to be saved and stored or turned into applesauce and pie for the celebrations.

Alayne and Amaryllis took up a spot near some other distant Tyrell relations, they were easy to laughter and quick to gossip, apparently a common trait of the Tyrells.

‘They say Lord Loras looks even uglier than the Hound now’, she caught one whispering.

‘How would you know? You have never seen the Hound.’

‘Well, how good looking can someone be who had half of his face melted off. Apparently his wounds still crack from time to time, and you can even see some bone!’

Inside Alayne, a red haired girl’s heart bled. The other side of his still looked fine, as did his body, even though she would never call him beautiful. But he had protected her like a true knight, while many men looking like knights had failed to do so.

_They never saw beyond his looks, just like people never saw beyond my claim._

‘Poor Loras, he was always quite vain. The second he’ll see his face he’ll weep’, another girl sighed.

‘I wonder if he’ll still be able to fight’, a low voice wondered.

‘He’s still a Tyrell. The experience will only make him stronger’, a high pitched voice said.

After having filled three baskets, Alayne and Amaryllis moved onto the pears. Here too, gossip could be found. Alayne had expected regular Reach gossip, but these girls had their eyes set beyond the Reach. The two young women collecting pears on the opposite line of trees were older, and apparently a lot more concerned with the actual politics of the realm than the young girls they had previously been standing near to. They were having an intense discussion of which Alayne only caught bits and pieces.

‘I wish we could keep it, all of it.’

‘You know we can’t, there’s a whole realm out there, many parts of the Seven Kingdoms are ravaged by war and Margaery, as their queen, must provide for them. If it was our region that was destroyed by war you would want the others to send us food too, wouldn’t you?’

‘My mother almost starved during the year of the False Spring, she’s originally from the Storm Lands and they’re not so big on agriculture. And, you know, you’ve heard the tales of winters so long generations of people born and died in winter. I pity the smallfolk of the other regions, I do, but we need to look after our own first.’

‘We have a lot of pears, but these won’t last us a generation, not even if we ration’, the blonde friend replied.

‘See, that’s what I’m talking about. In case of a bad winter we’ll already suffer as is’, the black haired girl said.

‘But we’re all here today, aren’t we? Isn’t that enough proof that humankind always survives winter? There’s no need to be so selfish. We do not suffer from war like the others, and we’ll find a way to grow crops in winter too. We won’t die. Besides, the other regions have already suffered vast losses. Entire houses have already come extinct. Just think about how destabilizing it will be if even more houses go extinct and even less farmers will be able to cultivate food’, the dark brunette explained.

‘I doubt there’s many places left that can be destabilized. Dragonstone is taken, there’s no Baratheon at Storm’s End, there’s no important Lannister at Casterly Rock, the Rivers in Riverland run red with blood with the legitimate lord a prisoner of the Lannisters and the castle given to Emmon Frey, the capitol is so destabilized two queens are battling each other in public and Winterfell is taken over by those dreadful Boltons and there’s no Stark left to take it back. The only areas left untouched are the Vale and Dorne.’

‘There is one left though, Sansa Stark.’

‘She’s been missing for seven months. Even if she’s still alive, she’s a Lannister and she probably conspired with her husband to kill King Joffrey’, the black haired girl shrugged.

‘She did what everyone here wanted to do’, Amaryllis replied, joining in on the conversation.

‘Nobody here wanted to kill the king _and_ be suspected of doing it.’

‘Leave it to a Northerner to never be subtle and discreet, even when plotting to kill a king.’, the blonde girl laughed.

‘Scheming and politics are the domain of Southern houses’, the black haired girl answered.

‘Still, she was one of the better ladies. My cousin talked highly of her, said she was very cute and sweet. I couldn’t imagine myself being cute and sweet if I was married to an imp, had my entire family murdered and was beaten in front of the entire court. That’s the kind of person I want to be in charge of a house after all this warmongering is over. One who is kind and forgiving and able to treat others well. We have seen how old grudges can tear a realm apart. I’ve heard she’s been spotted, you know’, the brown haired girl declared.

Alayne froze. Ser Shadrich. He must have sent multiple letters. How did a commoner, who was completely unimportant, otherwise know about it?

It was a nightmare come true.

She kept her back turned towards the girls as she continued collecting pears, but she strained her ears to hear every word.

The letter had said nothing about the Vale or the Tourney. She could still be safe. She could still return.

‘Yeah, I heard that too. Can it be true?’

‘But where is she then? And why isn’t she doing anything?’

‘Well what can she do? Her family’s dead, the Lannisters want her head, and her husband is sought for murder.’

‘I heard they never consummated the marriage. Does it even count then?’

‘She’s supposed to be one of the most gorgeous maidens of the realm, why wouldn’t he have slept with her? And besides, if they could plot the demise of the king together, they definitely got along.’

Alayne was dying of mortification. Complete strangers were discussing her marriage bed, and they were oh so wrong.

I didn’t kill him! Tyrion didn’t kill him. It was your family who killed him, your family and Lord Baelish. And Lord Tyrion was definitely attracted to me, but he refused. He refused. The marriage is illegitimate.

‘But having Sansa as a Lady means having the imp as a Lord. Whatever goodness she possess will be overruled by his cunning.’

‘If he lives. Come now, nobody even expected someone as deformed as him to make it to his age. His luck must run out at some point in time. She has a claim to Riverrun and Winterfell.’

‘Indeed, but, Winterfell belongs to the Boltons now, and Riverrun to the Freys. It’s official, if she takes them she’ll be going against the King’s orders.’

‘Orders can be undone. The Faith Militant was forbidden, and now it’s allowed again. Besides, Lord Stannis could always kill the Boltons, he’s still roaming around somewhere in the North.’

‘More war, more battles. Phuh, it’s getting boring’, the blonde girl sighed.

‘Or we could take her. I’m sure we could marry her to someone here. And when she’s officially one of ours, she’s an ally of the throne. That way she can claim those territories. She wouldn’t be taking them as an enemy of the crown.’

‘Oh Emmery, what a clever idea.’

It appeared everyone was waiting for Sansa Stark to be a widow, Alayne thought. Poor Tyrion Lannister. He was born unwanted and would die in the same way. She did not like him, but she could pity him.

‘Why so silent Alayne? Don’t tell me you’re watching the sun on the leaves now’, Amaryllis teased.

‘No, it’s just this talk of Sansa Stark. It made me think of Lady Lysa. She was her aunt and my High Lady. Her death is still felt strongly in the Vale’, Alayne lied quickly.

‘Oh, of course. You lived in her home and took care of her son, didn’t you?’

Alayne nodded.

‘Did she ever, you know, treat you badly because you were her husband’s bastard?’

 _Yes. Despite that I was her sister’s legitimate daughter even._ Lysa had gone mad, and then she flew.

‘She treated me in the way she thought was correct’, Alayne answered.

‘Diplomatic answer’, Amaryllis laughed.

‘But let’s not waste our time with the dead. Anyways. I’m done plucking apples, and so are you I think. Just look at you, your skin is turning pink.’ Amaryllis pointed out.

Alayne’s arms had indeed started turning pink. Her forearms were fine, they already spotted a very faint tan, but her biceps had a faint pink hue and her shoulders were turning salmon pink.

She’d been in a hot climate before, but in Kings Landing only the Tyrell girls sported bare arms. After the Southron ladies had started sporting Reach fashion sleeveless gowns had come into fashion, but everyone hid underneath parasols and remained indoors to prevent a tan. She hadn’t spent much time underneath the sun.

Amaryllis poked Alayne’s shoulder. Her fingertip remained on Alayne’s skin even when she retracted her finger. The pale white fingertip slowly returned to the pink shade of the rest of her skin.

‘That hurts.’

‘As I thought. Definitely burned. Could have guessed though, what with your hair.’

‘My hair?’ Alayne asked, trying not to show any signs of alarm. Could she see the red?

‘It’s dark but it’s got a reddish hue. People with black hair rarely burn, but those with red or blonde in their hair almost always do, unless they’re used to being in the sun, but even then they risk burning. You’re lucky though, with hair any redder than yours, it’s only a matter of time before you turn into a lobster.’

Alayne could curse herself. Her hair didn’t give her identity away, but she would probably still burn like a redhead. She hoped she could play it off as being a Northerner unused to the southern sun.

‘You mustn’t see the sun a lot.’

‘No. There’s quite a lot of daylight in the Eyrie but it’s so cold we wear long sleeves every day.’

‘Oh how dreadful, one of the things I’m not looking forward to’, Amaryllis sighed.

‘Are you excited for anything relating to winter?’ Alayne asked as the pair walked towards their horses.

‘For sure. Snow itself and ice.’

‘Ice?’ Alayne asked, her thoughts drifting towards the sword her real father once wielded. Joffrey had butchered it though.

‘Yes, they’re lovely deserts. We have ice cellars in the reach so we can have cool deserts and cool drinks but we only ever eat ices during the late days of autumn and in winter. You know, milk freezes so easily and then we just put some fruit through it or some vanilla and voila, the perfect desert.’

‘I like those too, I’ve had them before’, Alayne smiled.

The girls mounted their horses and set off towards the city again.

‘Say, Alayne, I bet you didn’t have a vineyard where you’re from.’

‘No. Why?’

‘Well. Would you like to know another harvest activity?’ Amaryllis asked, eyes sparkling with mischief.

‘Am I going to like it?’

‘I think so. Come on!’

Amaryllis softly hit her foot against the flank of her horse and leaned forward. The mare quickened her pace.

Amaryllis turned left instead of turning right, which would have lead them back towards Highgarden. Instead she was now racing towards a small bridge across one of the smaller streams branching from the Mander.

She was heading towards the closest vineyard.

Well, Alayne would be lying if she said she wasn’t curious. She quickly sent her horse racing after Amaryllis.

The wind combined with her speed tangled Alayne’s dark brown waves. Her heart was almost going as fast as her horse.

She was floating.

She closed her eyes. How long had it been since she felt weightless? She’d had a few moments in the Eyrie together with Myranda Royce, and before a couple with Margaery, but since Winterfell they were few and far in between. Was this adulthood? The loss of innocence and the loss of joy? She had been so impatient to grow up, but being an adult was awful business. _I was silly in the past I didn’t know what I was asking for_ , she admitted to herself.

‘Lea! Naera!’ Amaryllis cried out as she slowed down her horse. The vineyard had a moat around it to protect it from a potential flood and had a simple wooden fence around it as well. It wouldn’t do a good job of protecting the contents should an army arrive, but it would make the occasional petty thief think twice before trying to enter it and stealing the grapes. Alayne’s horse trotted through the wooden gates as well.

Her mind went back to the Ironborn ships. Highgarden wasn’t that far from the Shield Islands. That’s why the Shield Islands were called the Shield Islands, they were supposed to shield the access to the Mander so no enemies could sail up to Highgarden.

She imagined hundreds of boats filled with Ironborn arriving on the shores. At least they wouldn’t have an easy time running through the fields, vineyards and orchards surrounding the water. They all had ditches and small canals around them, and most even some fences. It would definitely slow them down. And then they would have to climb the ginormous high walls of Highgarden. And then they had to get through the maze to the second ring. And all of that without getting hit by arrows or boiling tar thrown down their way.

Highgarden would be safe, but it still gave Alayne food for thought.

Highgarden was surrounded with full fields of food. And it would be very easy to plunder the fields. The Tyrells could easily protect Highgarden, but many of their crops were outside of the walls. The Shield Islands were taken by the Ironborn. Why weren’t they sailing down the Mander right now? Winter is coming, and the Ironborn are completely dependent on others for their food supply, except for fish. Surely a smart leader would take some of the crops for his own people.

But no, instead, the Ironborn were sailing towards Oldtown. Oldtown had crops and fields to feed the people of the city, but it wasn’t exactly the largest agricultural centre of the Reach.

Why Oldtown? And why not at least pillage Highgarden?

The gears were cracking instead of turning in Alayne’s head. Lord Baelish had taught her to spot lies. To understand why people lied. To show her how she could use knowledge to her advantage. But she didn’t possess knowledge regarding the Ironmen, there was no intrigue, only wonder.

What did Oldtown possess that Highgarden didn’t? Did they attack Oldtown because they thought the army and fleet would not get there in time while they would get in Highgarden on time? Or was there something else in Oldtown?

But the fleet could not stay in Oldtown. The Ironmen raided, they didn’t conquer. Either they would continue to raid, this time on the East Coast, or they would return.

Oh. Of course! It made no sense to raid Highgarden before they returned, the crops would rot if they took them south and then back north again. Perhaps they would attack Highgarden after they had done whatever they intended to do in Oldtown.

Did Lord Willas think of this?

‘Alayne! Oh the Seven didn’t waste a lot of brains on you did they? Come on, you’re daydreaming again. I thought maybe you’d snap out of it yourself but you’ve been up on your horse just standing there for five minutes. Come on you odd girl, it’s time to become useful again!’ Amaryllis cried out.

Alayne startled, causing her horse to stagger.

‘Owh, shh. Hush hush. There girl, there. I’m sorry.’

She softly stroked the coarse manes of the horse before dismounting.

‘I think you might have a heat stroke, you’re really out of it today, have been the whole day. Are you feeling nauseous? Dizzy? Disoriented?’

‘I suppose I’m a little out of it, everything is a bit blurry inside my head’, Alayne answered. She didn’t want to worry Amaryllis, but she knew that she’d been distracted the entire day and it would be easier to pretend to be suffering underneath the heat.

‘Hm. We won’t be staying long then. I don’t want you throwing up tonight’, Amaryllis decided. ‘Come.’

Amaryliss grabbed her arm and dragged Alayne through long rows of yellow grapes. The leaves were so thick Alayne couldn’t see what was on the other side of the rows of grapes until they walked out on the other side and saw it. Women were jumping and dancing in large square wooden crates with their skirts drawn up, their legs flashing in the sunlight. Something coated their legs.

Alayne inched closer.

‘It’s called grape stomping’, Amaryllis supplied.

‘Why are they doing it?’

‘It helps release the juices of the grapes and it makes them uhm… Oh Leolas explained it to me just yesterday… Ah uhm. There was a word for it… Ferment! It helps the juice ferment. And fermenting is what makes the wine, uhm, it’s what gives you that buzzy feeling basically. Without it, it’s just grape juice.’

‘And what happens after they’re done?’

‘It’s taken away, I don’t know what they do exactly, it’s got something to do with sulfur and resin. But then they put it in clay vessels for storage.’

‘Clay? Not wood?’

‘You see, this is why you people can’t make a decent wine. No no no. It ruins the taste. Tsk. Really, savages’, Amaryllis rolled her eyes.

‘Now you want to join or not?’

‘Can I? Should I?’

‘Well what you should do before you jump in is wash your feet, you’ve been sweating in those slippers of yours all day I dare claim’, Amaryllis laughed, leading Alayne towards a stone basin filled with water.

From the basin, someone had laid out a couple of blocks of wood towards all tons in which the women were jumping, so they could wash their feet without having to then walk through the dirty grass. A piece of basic soap lay on the edge of the stone basin. Alayne and Amaryllis kicked off their silk slippers and put their feet in the water.

‘Oh’, Alayne couldn’t help but sigh. The water was deliciously cool against her hot legs.

‘I know, right?’ Amaryllis laughed.

They scrubbed their feet and then carefully jumped from wooden plank to wooden plank towards one of the grape filled tons.

The women were laughing and jumping and dancing and singing. Alayne had never heard their songs, and some made her blush quite a bit. Well actually, everything made her blush. Walking around on bare feet made her blush, pulling up her skirts made her blush a lot, and the contents of the song would have without a doubt made her Lady Mother scowl.

But I am Alayne. A bastard of Lord Baelish. I can laugh at the jokes, I should. And so she did, and although she could not get certain words across her lips, she tried to sing along. She fell a couple of times, luckily she was wearing a dark dress, so the stains weren’t as obvious.

Amaryllis kept looking at Alayne to ensure her friend was fine, and so, after the fifth tumble, she decided she’d rather play it safe and get the northern girl out of the sun, or at least cooled off. Besides, she was getting quite hot herself.

Alayne and Amaryllis were lifted out by a couple of helping hands.

‘I must look awful’, Alayne muttered, feeling her legs stick together and clumps of grapeskin stick between her toes.

‘Ah well, we all do’, Amaryllis shrugged, plopping down on the stone water basin and taking out water to clean her feet.

‘Do you swim?’ she asked.

Sansa Stark had swum in the rivers close to Winterfell in the Summer with her brothers and sister as a child. But once she was older than seven, her mother had separated her boys and girls. But without Robb to carry her around in the stream, it wasn’t as much fun to swim. It had been years now.

Would Alayne be able to swim? She had grown up in a harbour town. Even if she was raised by septa’s, she would have been able to go down to the beach as a child.

‘A little, but it’s been since I was a child.’

‘Ach, you never really forget how to do it’, Amaryllis shrugged.

Whatever feud was between the Tyrells and the Dornish, it had not prevented the first one from copying the latter. Of course, when asked, they would claim it was merely a matter of self-preservation.

To ensure High Garden’s survival during times of siege, multiple smaller streams from the Mander ran underneath the walls of Highgarden, and with an advanced system, water was pumped right to the highest levels of Highgarden. There were also some tanks built into all levels of the castle to serve as a supply of water for drinking, cooking, washing and for the plants. And there were also some water masses in the shapes of fountains and pools.

Amaryllis had lead Alayne through a part of the maze, pointing out several statues of lords and ladies of bygone eras, until they happened upon a pool with lovely statues, fountains and elegant decorative bows from which pots filled with flowers hung. The pools blended perfectly with the garden aesthetic. A garden looked most beautiful when all elements of nature were present, Amaryllis explained, hence the water. And it also had a practical aspect: many servants and smallfolk who couldn’t wash in their homes, could have a swim here, and it helped everyone cool down on hot days.

Alayne was surprised by the practicality of Highgarden once more. It was clear that everything was designed to be beautiful, but almost everything appeared to serve a purpose. Even the elegant tapestries served to remind everyone of the history of Highgarden.

‘You can take off your dress’, Amaryllis said while she undid the laces of her own dress. ‘It’s the Maiden’s pool.’

There were indeed no men to be seen, and the pool was surrounded on all sides by maze and rose bushes and lavender shrubs.

Alayne still felt a bit uneasy as she unlaced her dress and pulled it across her head, left in only her smallclothes. The other women were dressed in only their smallclothes as well, some wore some very lacy Reach-style smallclothes, and some didn’t wear anything at all.

Amaryllis plunged into the water in one elegant go, but Alayne carefully tiptoed over to the stairs. Hesitantly, she poked a foot into the water. It was definitely cool, but it was warmer than the streams she’d swum in in the North.

I’m still Sansa Stark of Winterfell, I can bear the cold.

She put her foot down on the step, and added another. The water lapsed at her heated skin, and she let out a satisfied sigh. The cold didn’t sting as much anymore, instead it was now delightfully cool. She took another three steps.

‘Well, what do you think?’ Amaryllis asked, swimming not far away from the stairs.

‘Can you stand?’ Alayne asked.

Amaryllis nodded, stopping the movement of her arms. Her head and neck jutted out of the water now.

‘Yes, the water is deep, but not too deep’, she responded.

Alayne nodded, looking back at the water in front of her. Steeling a breath, she took the plunge. It had not been bad when it was just her legs, but to feel the water on her breasts felt like being slapped by the sword of Meryn Trant. She gasped, trashing around to find purchase.

 _Danger_.

‘Alayne, Alayne, calm down. You can stand.’

Two hands grabbed her arms and pulled them down. Her feet shot out and hit what must be the bottom. It was slippery with algae, but she could stand just fine.

‘There, see?’ Amaryllis asked as Alayne caught her breath.

She had not expected the flashback from Kings Landing.

 _I’m not that girl anymore. Alayne never went to Kings Landing_ , she told herself.

I am Alayne Stone and I am safe. No one wants to hurt me here.

‘Isn’t this nice?’ Amaryllis asked as she let go of Alayne’s hands. The girl pushed herself away from Alayne, carelessly drifting on her back, keeping herself afloat only by kicking the water.

She was actually very pretty, Alayne noticed. Her blonde hair was sunkissed, and her skin a lovely golden sand colour. She was one of the blondes who was used to living in the sun, Alayne thought. Alayne wondered whether the other ladies in waiting had brought her here back when she wasn’t used to the heat yet, or perhaps she had always been used to the sun.

‘It’s very nice’, Alayne admitted, carefully jumping up and down to get used to being in the water again.

‘At least now we can return to the palace without our thighs being sticky with grapejuice’, Amaryllis laughed.

‘Our clothes though.’

‘Oh mine are quite fine, it’s yours that are ruined’, Amaryllis laughed, turning over on her belly and swimming back to Alayne.

‘It’s fine, the washerwomen are used to getting out wine and grape stains. Luckily for you, they are white grapes. Those stains are easier to get rid of.’

Alayne walked through the water alongside Amaryllis’ swimming figure. She wasn’t yet certain whether she wanted to give swimming an attempt. At the edges of the pool young maidens sat, giggling and singing.

Actually, a lot of young ladies had been singing and giggling the past few days. Not that giggling was unusual behaviour for young ladies, but nobody sang _that_ often.

‘Amaryllis, is there a reason everyone is so into singing or is it just a common pastime for young ladies here?’

‘They’re practising for the competition. Don’t mind them. I personally think practising is tantamount to cheating’, she laughed.

‘Practicing?’ Alayne asked, brushing her arms through the water to get closer to Amaryllis who was swimming away. Her feet lifted off of the bottom every time she did it. She remembered the movements of swimming. But she kept walking.

‘Yes, for the celebrations.’

‘What of them? Why the singing?’ Alayne asked as she followed her quick friend.

This time when she brushed her arms through the water, her feet hit the water instead of the ground.

She gasped and quickly drew up her legs before pushing them outwards. She was swimming!

She wasn’t drowning. She put her feet back down, taking a moment to collect her courage, before pushing off towards her friend.

‘What has singing to do with the celebrations?’

‘You really don’t know anything about them, do you?’ Amaryllis laughed as she swam to the edge of the pool.

‘Alright, I’ll tell you. You deserve to know.’

Amaryllis put her hands on the ledge and smoothly pushed herself upwards, lifting herself out of the pool. She sat down on the edge, looking at Alayne with a smile.

‘First the basics. Our celebrations are very old, from the time before the irregular summers and winters. We can trace them back to the children of the forest and Garth Greenhand. They say the North is the most old fashioned in regards to keeping up with the customs of the first men, but of course it is us who kept the fun parts’, Amaryllis smiled.

Alayne’s blood and northern pride barked at the comment, but she kept it down, forcing a smile on her face.

‘Now we don’t ever talk about these customs with people of the other regions. We like to keep them to ourselves, which is why you haven’t heard of it. But, to get back to the story. When the winters started turning longer for may the Seven know what reasons, the descendants of Garth Greenhand started to decide the solstice days. During normal summer years we celebrate around the sixth month because it’s right in the middle of the year, that way we have two big parties: a new year party and a mid-year party. When the ravens announce autumn it’s different. Farmers can guess when most of their crops will be ready for harvesting and when autumn comes around we know that it will probably be the last big harvest of summer crops before winter rolls around. So after the largest harvest day, which will also be the longest day we’ll have for the following months or years, we hold a party.’

Alayne had never known about celebrations. Amaryllis was talking about a celebration that had its roots eight thousand years ago! She’d been raised with Northern customs that could be traced back to the Age of Heroes, she had thought the North was unique this way. But in the Eyrie she’d learned that there were mountain clans whose grammar was all wrong because they still spoke with the patterns of the old tongue, and now, in the Reach, she found this celebration. The past was truly alive. 

Now I’m no expert, I just throw on a dress and a flower crown and dance, but there are a few traditions. I don’t know how old they are. And the old celebrations have certainly changed through the ages. First: there’s a lot of baking. To celebrate the sun and summer a lot of deserts are made with yellow and orange flowers and fruits. Lemoncakes, lemon curds, yellow rose cold tea, sugared yellow daisies, orange cakes, cookies with lemon and orange, you get it. Slices of orange and lemon also look like the sun, so that’s another reason. Then there’s the dancing: we dance and party until the next morning until the sun rises again. Then we bring out a large toast to the rising sun, to show her we are gladdened by her return and always look forward to it. I think that tradition came into existence after the long night.’

‘That’s so… I have no words’, Alayne brought out. The traditions made such sense and were so amazingly enticing.

Had Sansa Stark married Willas, she would have celebrated the Solstice with him, dancing through the night. Perhaps it was some divine justice that she was brought here after all the misery she’d been through, so she could get some part of the future she’d been denied.

‘All houses are cleaned, decoration is hung everywhere, and around farmlands offerings are left behind for the gods and the children of the forest so that they can also celebrate. Our way of showing we still remember and value them. We hope that by being kind to them, they’ll be kind to us. And then in the afternoon bonfires are lit everywhere since fire deters the evil spirits and powers of darkness that rule the dark winter days. The biggest fire is right in the highest circle, in front of the Tyrell castle, and from that fire all smallfolk light their torches at nightfall, and carry the fire to their homes to light their hearths and chase away the dark and cold. Really, it’s just basically a fuck-winter party where we beg the gods for a mild winter’, Amaryllis laughed.

It was clear she didn’t believe much of what she said, but Alayne was entranced. No wonder that even Lord Willas believed this party should take place. It was such a powerful signal, especial right before winter.

‘And now for the fun part and what you asked about. All celebrations are interwoven. The solstice was a day where everyone was celebrating summer, the sun and the gifts of the harvest. It was all about life and fertility, so of course it’s linked with sex and marriage. Solstice has always been a popular day for weddings. People think they are blessed by the gods if they marry this day, and that their union will be as fruitful as the harvest. The bonfires are said to lead maidens to their future husbands. Maidens are tasked with collecting summer flowers and herbs on solstice evenings and hang them in doorways or put them in vases of water on solstice night. So as the men carry fire to their homes and provide heat and safety, women provide comfort and beauty. And in case the woman is a maiden, she should put some flowers under her pillow, it would make her dream of her future love. But between you and me, I’ve done that every year and I can’t remember a single night I dreamt of a man. But then again, I’m in my cups most solstices and you never dream well when you’ve had too much to drink.’

‘So this is where you advise me not to overindulge’, Alayne smiled.

‘Or you take away that you probably won’t dream of your husband since dreams are just dreams and you should instead focus on enjoying yourself?’ Amaryllis offered.

Alayne laughed and crawled out of the water as well. She was dying to hear more. A part of her was still in love with fairy tales and traditions.

‘Anyways, you see where I’m going with this. We spend the entire night drinking and dancing. Not only are there a lot of weddings, there’s also a lot of fun times because people are happy and in their cups’, Amaryllis smiled.

‘The rulers of Highgarden are the ones announcing the day of the celebrations, and they are also the ones who lead the official celebration. The celebration is very influenced by the Seven. Men are the ones who plough the fields, who sow and harvest and warm and defend the house. That’s a role ascribed to The Father. The Tyrells are currently the wardens of the South and defenders of the smallfolk, they are The Warrior. And on Solstice Night, they transform from The Warrior into the Father. They start the celebrations by doing the first dance with a woman who takes on the role of The Maiden, who then takes on the role of the Mother. If the current lord is married, his wife will take on the role. If he isn’t married, the role is given away to the woman who wins the Maiden Contest.’

‘Maiden Contest?’

‘Yes, in two days’ time there’ll be a contest. Every maiden living or working in the castle must participate. First, the maiden needs to be beautiful, so a lot of women lose the competition in the first phase.’

‘How horribly superficial.’

‘I know. But it’s life. A seventh of the women get discarded based on beauty, get it, because the God has seven faces?’ Amaryllis laughed, bumping her shoulder against Alayne’s.

‘Next up is needlework, because a woman needs to be able to make clothes for her family? All participants get a piece of plain fabric and they have one hour to stitch the most beautiful design related to summer. Two seventh of the young women fall out. Then there’s a dancing contest. The maiden must be able to dance very well, since it’s important for her tasks during the Solstice Celebrations so half fall off here. Then there’s the poetry contest. The remaining ladies each get three summer flowers or herbs around which they must make a poem. They have an hour for the task and they must celebrate summer and show the meaning of the flowers and herbs in their poem. This is also a big chop. Then there’s the music contest, all women must sing a song of their own choosing. Only seven will remain.’

‘Who chooses who goes to the next round?’ Alayne asked.

‘Seven people. One septon, one septa, one farmer, one lord, one ser, one crone and one married woman. To keep it fair the Lord of Highgarden goes out on a walk on the day before the solstice and the first persons he meets who fit the bill will join the judgement board. The lord shall prepare seven questions while the trials have started, one for each woman. An impartial servant shall attach them to flowers. Every lady gets to pick her own flower, but since the lord can only start making up the questions during the competition and a servant decides what question goes with what flower the lord cannot give an easy question to the maiden he wants in advance. And based on the answers, he and two consultants decide who wins the competition. Everyone’s too excited, really. There hasn’t been a competition in ages. Lord Mace Tyrell was already married, as was Lord Leo.’

‘But Lord Mace Tyrell is still alive and married?’ Alayne asked.

‘Yes, but he’s not here, is he? Lord Willas will have to preside over the arrangements instead’, Amaryllis shrugged.

‘And you know, given the background of Solstice all girls are going crazy. They want to win and hope that during their joined activities Lord Willas will notice them and fall in love with them. They all want to be the next Lady Tyrell.’

‘Don’t you?’

Amaryllis’ face scrunched. ‘For starters I believe we’re too closely related. I’m a bastard of one of Lady Alerie’s brothers so that makes us cousins. Secondly, those lowborn girls think life as a lady is a dream, but I wouldn’t want the burden of the entire Reach on my shoulders, that’s a lot of work. I’ll allow the highborn girls their fantasies, they were raised to be ladies. Thirdly, I’m a bastard. And while you don’t have to be highborn to marry someone important, I mean, we all know the story of Jenny of Oldstones, the chances are rare.’

Alayne nodded. She understood. For the servants it must seem like a dream to be served instead. To some degree they were right, Alayne had always lived in certain comfort, but she doubted many servants had any idea how awful the life of a lady could be. She doubted many would be envious of the life Sansa Stark had lived ever since leaving Winterfell. Being highborn hadn’t protected her.

‘So what do the Warrior turning Father and the Maiden turning Mother do that night?’ Alayne asked.

‘Together they will light the big bonfire and jump over a smaller bonfire to show them moving on towards the warmth and light of the next summer. Then they will share an opening dance to kick off the celebrations. Then the Lord carries a torch into the castle to light the fire in the big banquet hall while the lady carries a flower piece into the banquet hall. All smallfolk can then do the same, following the example. Then the banquet can start. After the banquet we go to the sept and the lady sings a song for the seven and a song for the harvest, asking mercy for everyone during winter, as a mother would do. And the last step of their joined activities, if they are married, is to celebrate their marriage by trying to create life, if you understand where I am going.’

Alayne blushed but nodded.

‘So, excited?’

‘What? Me? I can’t. I’m not even from here.’

‘You don’t have to be, you are both working and residing in the castle. And you’re a maiden. You fit the bill.’

‘I’m a bastard.’

‘Doesn’t matter. Come on, wouldn’t it be incredibly amusing if a girl who isn’t even from around here gets into one of the later rounds?’ Amaryllis laughed.

‘I doubt they would let a Northern girl play the most important part of the festivities.’

‘Like you’d ever get that far. The chances are one in a hundred. Besides, you have to participate, so why not just do your best?’

‘I’m not saying I’m going to lose deliberately’, Alayne snapped.

She had been raised to be a lady. She knew that Alayne wasn’t, but she had spent her entire childhood reciting poetry, making music, sewing and learning to dance. She could not deliberately be bad at it. She couldn’t make ugly things.

‘Good. I’m curious to see how far you’ll get. You’re pretty, and your stitching is supreme. Your singing voice isn’t too shabby either. They’ll have to let you through if the others are below your level. They must appoint the most talented maiden. To choose anyone else but the most perfect maiden would be to insult the seven. And we really can’t risk to insult the seven in autumn. We need to be on the good side of the seven.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright so I know this chapter felt a bit like an infodump at the end, but Sansa really loves stories and festivities and especially since Baelish learned her that 'knowledge is power' I imagine she wants to know everything she can about everything. So it felt fitting that I let Amaryllis divulge at length what she knew about the solstice. 
> 
> So where am I going with these celebrations since they're not part of the official aSoIaF universe: one, for fun and for plot obviously. Secondly the history of the Reach is seeped in old lore about the children of the forest, Garth Greenhand and his magical offspring. George is the master of referencing gods and mythical stories without actually expanding on them. Despite the mythical origins of the first kings of the Reach, the entire south seems to be devoted to the Faith while in the north the old gods, customs of the first men, the drowned god and the wildling beliefs are still alive. So I wanted to find a way to combine the mythical origins of the Reach and the Faith of the Seven. Though my explanations for the customs are original, the customs aren't. I've taken one straight out of the faith of R'hlorr (the jumping over fire) because it overlapped with a solstice tradition from Croatia, Lithuania, Latvia, Estonia, Russia and Spain. The jumping over the bonfire is also a part of the R'hlorr wedding customs, I thought it would be funny to include it without the people of the Reach knowing about it. This was on one side to show how similar traditions exist in many cultures and religions but just get a different explanation, and on the other to show that although the faith of R'hlorr is shown a lot in aSoIaF it isn’t widespread at all. Only Stannis’ followers and Thoros of Myr believe in it so it wouldn’t make sense for some local like Amaryllis to know about it.
> 
> In my opinion both the Seven and Rhlorr come from across the sea, just like all major monotheistic religions in our world have similar traditions and some similar (and even shared) figures I thought it would only make sense that as both religions came from another continent, they perhaps interacted on another continent before blowing over to Westeros, drawing on each other and transforming into separate entities. I really believe religions always draw on old traditions and religions to make the new religions catch on. 
> 
> That's why I threw together the two aSoIaF faiths and many pagan traditions from all across Europe to create a Westerosi solstice celebration with a Westerosi explanation. I know solstice would be difficult to explain in a world where the length of day is sometimes the same for entire years, but I hope I made it believable. 
> 
> For those interested some of the traditions I adopted from other countries: 
> 
> \- A central solstice belief is that fires need to be lit. The fire would deters evil spirits who roam freely as the sun turns south. People in Estonia and Latvia believe that the fire scares mischievous harvest-ruining spirits, so the bigger the fire the further away the spirits keep (so the better the harvest will be). I used this because during the long night, white walkers dwelt in Westeros and fire kept the dark figures away. So as the sun disappeared, fire became a matter of life and death. So it would make sense for them to celebrate with big bonfires, and to celebrate the return of the great big ball of fire called the sun. 
> 
> \- In Norway and Sweden, it is believed that placing flowers under the pillow of a young girl will make her dream of her future love.
> 
> \- Cleaning the house, fertility (even including the weddings), decorating with flowers, baking, harvest and dancing are recurring actions everywhere during the solstice. 
> 
> \- the carrying of torches from one large fire to the homes is an ancient celtic rite from around the winter solstice. I'm taking my liberties here :)))
> 
> Hope you enjoyed!


	6. Sweet, gentle, pious Willas

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The previous chapter lacked some Tyrell, decided to take Willas take the lead here <3 Enjoy

_“My dear daughter,_

_Some of the guests have decided to stay with us._

_I am sorry to announce that due to what has transpired during the Tourney and this recent development, I am forced to prolong your stay at Highgarden indefinitely._

_Another piece of news you might be curious to learn is that apparently the Lady Sansa Lannister has been sighted. I do not know where, but we must keep vigilant. You know she was a niece to my dearly departed lady wife Lysa, and I myself had met her a couple of times in Kings Landing. I hope she is smarter than her father and does not come here seeking my or her cousin’s sympathy, she is an enemy of the crown and enemies of the crown are no friends of mine. Be a doll and if you are asked about the relationship between our sweet Lord Robin and his niece, tell them there is no relationship. They never met and she is the enemy._

_In your last letter you mentioned that you did not even have duties anymore due to the Lady Alerie’s absence, I do hope you are not just squandering your day away walking through gardens and playing with puppies. I do hope that in our time together I at least taught you to find useful occupations for your time. Keep your eyes and ears open, my dear little mockingbird._

_I look forward to your return. I have many things I want to inform you about, including about your future. Winter is soon upon us my dear Alayne, the snow has not stopped falling for three days now, and though it is generally a time of hardship I can assure you I will create the brightest future for us, as bright as snow. You know I have always been able to make the best out of the most horrible situation. Even in the darkness we are now subjected to, we are not lost, I have torches._

_Your lord father”_

The next morning brought words on wings. Alayne had been hoping for hints of life in the Gates of the Moon. She finally got what she wished for, but she was most distraught by the news.

The first line was clear enough, Lord Baelish still feared that it was unsafe for Alayne to return to the Eyrie and that Ser Shadrich was not captured. It had to do with the second and third paragraph no doubt. If Lord Baelish was writing about Sansa Stark, it meant that the letters of Ser Shadrich were now considered common knowledge and it was clear he feared that soldiers might come and inspect the Eyrie. Moreover she knew the third paragraphs served another purpose: to show whoever intercepted the letter that Lord Baelish was not in leagues with Sansa Stark in past, present or future. He was also instructing her how to respond to gossip.

Very clever, father.

And as long she was staying here, she would have to be his eyes and ears. Spy for him.

_My little mockingbird._

Sandor had called her a bird as well, always chirping the tune people wanted her to sing. She was still a bird, and still caged. She was not free to leave Highgarden, and while here she had to do as her father said, and say what her father wanted her to say. Would she ever be free?

 _‘You know there’s more to songbirds than sitting and singing in a cage right? Take swallows for example, they’re no caged birds at all. They spend much time in the air, capturing insects; they are among the most agile of passerine birds. Now, the crow can be counted amongst the songbirds too, although you wouldn’t call them that. You know how crows are, I assume, they hunt, they’re smart, they’re cunning, they’re no real pets. Like all songbirds those two can be taught things, but they’re no stupid little balls of feathers. So, what kind of bird shall you be, my lady?’_ Lord Willas had said. Littlefinger told her not to trust anyone, and Lord Willas did not trust easily himself. Yet there was a crucial difference. Littlefinger had no trouble exploiting others. Although Lady Olenna had no problem with it either, as she had been ready to let Lord Tyrion face trial and use Sansa during the poisoning of King Joffrey, Willas had instead helped her. He’d advised her to stop being a pawn and start becoming a player. He’d told her how to find and use power while Littlefinger had taught her how to analyse players, not how to be one.

Perhaps she should become another kind of bird.

Right now she had no one who would support her and keep her safe but Lord Baelish. If he decided to betray her she would die. She owed her life to him. She could not go against him. But could she make the most of her time here in her own right instead of his? Become friends, and hopefully indispensably valuable to the Tyrells on her own? She could find her own connections she could trust, so that she wasn’t entire dependent on the most unreliable man in the seven kingdoms.

The last paragraphs just confirmed her suspicions. Littlefinger was wary of sending her information by raven, but two things were clear. Something about her future had changed, probably in regards to her marriage with Harrold Hardyng. Secondly Littlefinger already had a plan B that would affect her future, but was beneficial to him. “A future for us” really said it all. He would always be in her future, profiting off of her name and claim. Dontos might have been in leagues with him, but he had been right “All they want is your claim” he had said, he had never truly been a fool, only a drunk.

She knew she was not intended to burn the letter. Littlefinger wanted the spiders and little birds to find the letter and read it, so no one would suspect them from working together with the fugitive Sansa Stark. But she couldn’t leave it out in the open to be found either.

Alayne looked around her room for a place to hide it that would be considered clever, as besuited a daughter of Lord Baelish, yet findable for those searching for it.

Not under the matrass, not in a drawer underneath her clothing. The dark wooden furniture was too heavy to move so she couldn’t put it behind it. She looked at the blue walls with roses painted on them, her eyes sweeping over the furniture, fireplace and the full length mirror until they fell back on her bed. Perhaps underneath her matrass was a stupid idea, but how about on top of the dark blue fabric covering the top of her four-poster bed? Yes. Perfect.

Cersei Lannister had taught her a woman’s best weapon was between her legs, and Lord Baelish had told her her eyes could work wonders on men. She eyed her figure in the mirror. There was little use in seducing Lord Willas. Firstly her time at Highgarden was limited, as soon as family members she knew returned, she had to go. Secondly, as Sansa Stark she was still married at present, so she could not marry him and seducing him without marrying would destroy the evidence she carried with her that her previous marriage was unconsummated. And thirdly she needed to preserve said maidenhead for whenever she did get married, be it as Sansa Stark or Alayne Stone.

Lord Willas Tyrell was also clearly not the kind of person who’d risk his future for a peasant with a pretty face. He was no Duncan Targaryen. He had lived well over two decades waiting for the right bride, he would make a smart political choice. But he was lonely and distraught, sick with worry for his family. He was looking for comfort and companionship, it was why he had started chatting her up pretending to be someone else in the first place. She could be there for him and provide him comfort and knowledge, while being easy on the eye.

Perhaps it wouldn’t hurt to wear a more lowcut dress. And perhaps it wouldn’t hurt if she won the Solstice Maiden competition and showed just how well suited she was for everything.

If Amaryllis was right, there was a substantial chance another maiden might try to win the title to have an evening with the future Lord of Highgarden. She didn’t doubt many commoners would offer Lord Willas what she would not. Lord Willas would not marry, but neither did Harry, and Harry had two daughters already. A bastard more or less never made the difference to a lord. The shame was always on the woman and the child, never the man. But if he had someone else to comfort him and listen to him, that would threaten her chances of becoming an ally.

There was still a silent fire of annoyance burning inside of her due to his lies, but she knew her feelings were wrong. She was lying to him at present. Besides, he was trying to make amends. She could forgive him, if there was no forgiveness for a man not immediately telling his name, then there would definitely be no mercy for a daughter killing her father through her betrayal.

Alayne Stone arrived at the solar in a lower cut light blue dress bringing out the bright blue of her eyes.

The door was slightly ajar, and despite Alayne’s knocking, no answer came. Alayne peeked through the gap and spotted the bearded lord sitting at a desk, writing quickly in a book while his eyes were fully directed at a slip of parchment.

Reading and writing at the same time? Studious and impressive.

‘My lord, I hope I am not interrupting’, Alayne hesitantly said as she pushed open the door. The creaking of the door, the blur of light blue dress in an otherwise green, golden and brown room, and the soft voice combined did manage to draw his attention.

‘My lady!’ He cried, the muscles in his arm tensing up due to his surprise. Five sheets of parchment rolled off of the overly full desk.

‘My lord is looking something up, I come at a bad time’, she said sweetly as she bowed her head, delicately turning it away so it seemed she did not even want to know what he was researching.

‘No, it’s alright. I was busy, but then I’m always busy. What time is it? Oh, oh I did not know it was that late already. Cloudy days always throw me off, normally I can feel the time passing by the amount of light in the room.’

‘You are going to have a very hard time during winter’, she smiled softly.

‘Yes, well. It’s a thing I’ll have to work on. I’m not entirely perfect yet, I hope to be better at a great many things before I become lord’, he grimaced. ‘Although that is no excuse to be unprepared for our meeting, my apologies.’

Alayne nodded gracefully.

‘Please, sit down already. I just need to clean up a bit first’, he said, signalling her to sit at the long table. There was a platter in the middle. Underneath a glass bell lay slices of melon, peaches, fireplums and grapes ready for eating. Beside it stood a carafe of wine and clean glasses. Everything was grown not a stone’s throw away from Highgarden. It was a great luxury, in Winterfell things always needed to be imported. They could never truly be self-reliant.

‘No bad news today, I hope?’ Alayne asked subtly.

‘I was only researching the topic at hand, my lady’, Lord Willas replied as he rolled the scrolls back up.

A sweet girl would help him. But on the other hand, it could appear as if she was trying to read what he was reading.

‘Oh. Soon I will have nothing to tell you anymore’, Alayne decided to laugh.

‘It’s nothing I haven’t read in the past. But I’m a firm believer of writing everything down per topic. It helps me get an overview. A lot of information is split up, a snippet here, a piece there. Putting everything together makes you see the bigger picture. Because everything is influenced by each other.’

Once again Alayne felt like he was telling her a lot, but reasonably, it was only a conviction of his he had shared with her. He didn’t tell her new information. But she classified the view anyway. She wondered, if he always wrote everything down per topic, if he had an extensive book on what every member of every noble house was up to. What kind of dots would he connect when looking at all the actions of all the noble houses together?

‘That sounds very clever. Do you need any help, my lord?’

‘There is no need, but it might go quicker’, he admitted.

He was quick rolling the scrolls and putting all scrolls and books in the bookcase, but his walking to and from was very slow.

Alayne walked over to his table as he was at the bookcase. It were indeed all books and scrolls, except for two tiny sheets of paper. They were closed, but she recognized the first due to the writing on the outside: the announcement of Ser Shadrich; and the second was recognisable by seal: Lord Baelish. Did he connect the two? Or were they just the latest correspondence he received? No, it couldn’t be. The commonfolk already knew about Sansa Stark so he must have received the letter at least two days ago. He had to get more letters than that per day. She put the question away for another time.

She decided it was polite to feign ignorance about the first, so she started rolling a scroll as she carefully weighed her words.

‘Oh, all my father’s ravens must have arrived together. I got mine this morning as well’, she decided to say as she walked over to the bookcase with scrolls and books in both arms.

‘Yes. Uhm. He asked whether it was alright if you stayed with us a while longer.’

She threw him a small smile as she handed him the literature piece by piece so he could put it away in the right place.

‘I apologize for asking, I just recognized his seal.’

‘It’s fine, there was nothing secret on the table. I wouldn’t leave it out like that’, he smiled.

Curious, Littlefinger always pretended he let the person he was talking to know everything there was to know, while Willas did not hide that he hid information. Perhaps he was more like Lord Varys, who let people know he knew a lot, but rarely talked about it. It frustrated her she had so few acquaintances. It was hard to compare or analyse people when you didn’t know many. Lord Baelish knew many people, it’s how he could predict and categorise them, Alayne wasn’t equipped.

Alayne pretended to laugh.

‘So, is there… any chance I might find out my fate. Or do I need to ask my father?’ Alayne smiled.

‘You needn’t. There’s no reason why you couldn’t stay with us a little bit longer, so I don’t see any problem with it. When my mother returns and she decides differently, we might need to have another talk, but I don’t think she minds.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Well, she had no complaints about you before’, he admitted as he pushed another scroll in place.

Alayne handed him her last book and went to retrieve a few more.

‘I’m pretty good at guessing my family’s opinions’, he said conversationally.

_This is it, the moment to start being sociable and start teasing,_ a voice inside her head whispered. _Be like you were before you knew he was Lord Willas, he liked that._

‘Now I feel tempted to test that claim and ask you what they’d think of me.’

‘How will you test it, you don’t know my family.’

‘But I’ve heard rumours, and my father told me some things, and some chatterboxes gossiped around here as well.’

‘And what rumours have you heard?’ he asked, testing the waters.

Now she had to be careful. She could not guess too much. Gossip spread like wildfire, but the Vale was far removed from where any Tyrell roamed. She could not know too much. On the other hand, her father had met all. He could have easily told her some things before sending her towards the Reach. And she could have heard some things during her time in Highgarden.

‘I know your mother personally… I’ve heard Lord Mace is jovial and a good negotiator, and fond of merrymaking.’

Willas nodded carefully.

‘Lord Garlan is gallant and kind. He is very loving and brave. Lord Loras is… brave, but a bit on the reckless side. He is also very charming and chivalrous, and I heard quite self-assured.’

She decided to leave out the hot tempered, arrogant, vain and men-loving remarks.

‘And Margaery is sweetness and gentleness itself, the Maiden come alive.’

Lord Willas nodded.

‘Very common sayings, indeed. Nothing particularly surprising or detailed’, he decided.

‘My father doesn’t care about servants, nor does Loras. And unless the guest is male and able to party with them at night, it doesn’t matter to them who resides in the castle. Garlan is happy any way, and Margaery always likes it when new girls arrive’, Willas shrugged easily. Clearly to him, his family followed behaviour and thought patterns that weren’t even a secret.

‘I’m gladdened to hear that, my lord. Your family is very kind to their servants and guests. I am indebted to you’, Alayne decided to say politely.

‘Let us start, shall we?’ Willas asked, deciding her empty pleasantry wasn’t important enough to respond to.

She followed him to the table and sat back down on her chair. Willas appeared to be doing better today, back to only using a cane.

‘The fruit and the wine and tea are there for your taking, should you want’, Lord Willas explained as he poured some cold rose and elderflower tea in his cup. Alayne decided to follow suit. If he wasn’t drinking, neither would she.

‘Before we start it is important to me that we go over some principles’, he explained soberly.

Alayne nodded.

‘We’ll be discussing sensitive information in regards to how we rule our region. It is possible that our amount of stocks, our coping methods, and our tactics for winter will come up, as well as trade deals with other regions and prices that may vary depending on who wants to buy our goods. Therefor it is crucial I have your word you will not speak about any particulars with anyone.’

It was a smart and understandable move, but this dry man was miles removed from the smiling young man who showed her the stars and threw away bloody placentas. In an instant he rose above the level of his siblings and shot right up there with Lord Baelish and Lady Olenna.

‘Yes, of course. I will assume I am allowed to tell people I am meeting you in regards to winter, but without divulging into details? Now I must ask you if my father is allowed to know. Do you see me as an extension of your alliance with him, or as an independent person?’

‘You may tell others that I require your intelligence, yes. In regards to your father knowing, as long as you remain in Highgarden you cannot tell him anything except that you are consulting me. I don’t want anything about our plans for winter to travel by raven, understandably. If anyone knows about the size of our savings and our stocks they might use that knowledge. When you leave, we can discuss what you can tell him and what is relevant for him to know. Rest assured that whatever he needs to know and is safe for me to inform him about per raven will be told to him by me. I treat you with the curtesy that extends from my family to his. But our dealings are between you and me. It is your knowledge I am using, and it is your support and loyalty I need, on the other hand I am the one offering you protection and privilege. Evidently, if one of us betrays the other, that will affect the dynamic between our families. But you are speaking as yourself during our conversations, not as his emissary.’

It was a golden chance, Alayne knew. No one else would have offered her a position in her own right. No one else would allow a bastard to determine a part of the policy of a region. She could build trust and relationships right here, right now, for herself. It was as he told her the night she discovered his real identity, she could exercise power through her connection with Lord Baelish. That would prevent Willas from using her and abusing her, meanwhile she could build her own value.

‘Thank you, my lord, I understand perfectly’, she smiled sweetly.

‘Is there a way I can be assured of your loyalty though?’ Willas wondered, cocking his head to the side. ‘I’ve been thinking about this and usually people can give me something to seal the alliance. Something that would hurt them if they violated the rules, and I would give them something in return.’

 _I have a secret but you may never know_ , Alayne mused.

‘But my lord, you are already assured of my loyalty,’ Alayne smiled sweetly, ‘you hold all the cards. There is no advantage in this for me, except the knowledge that the lives of many people will be spared in the winter that is to come. I am here, yours to do with as you please. You could have me beheaded for treason, you can check my post, you can threaten to break your alliance to my father or ask him for retribution for my betrayal. My lord father is kind to me, but if I cross his politics, I will be severely punished and perhaps banished.’

‘That is true, but I would rather not use drastic measures such as straining the relationship between our houses.’

‘But is all not fixed? From our conversations we both gain something: we both sleep easier in the knowledge that Highgarden will be more prepared for winter – which is definitely in my importance too as long as I am staying here – and we can both gain individual prestige when word gets out that we were the two people responsible for preparing Highgarden for winter. On the other hand all disadvantages, if I lie or gossip or you start treating me badly, are for our families since we can both hurt the bond between our families. You depend on my father, and we depend on you’, Alayne decided.

Lord Willas nodded slowly, hand rubbing his beard. He did look very handsome when he looked at her so intensely. It made her think of how she was trying to impress him, and she subtly shifted into a position that would show off her chest more. She smiled sweetly as she twisted her brown hair around her finger.

He was wearing blue today. It complimented his eyes. She briefly wondered, as she gazed at his auburn flecked beard, if this was what her uncle Edmure would look like, but with more red in his beard and hair.

‘And this satisfies you, what you get out if it?’ Willas clarified.

‘I am always happy when people’s lives are being spared, my lord. I would not wish it upon anyone to die and go hungry, and many men do in winter. It is simply a truth. And to be frank, the Vale did well the past summer, although I cannot give the details on how well. Should the time come when tragedy strikes in the Vale, I hope we can count on our friends in the Reach, whose preparations for winter should go well, hopefully through my help.’

 _“Cannot give”,_ not _“do not know the details”_. Alayne was quite proud of herself for choosing her words carefully. She wondered whether Littlefinger would be proud of her. Had she already made mistakes? Did she have to be more diplomatic? Should she have given harsher terms? She did not know, but she hoped she was doing fine.

‘If your advice is useful, without a doubt, my lady’, Lord Willas answered with a smile.

‘Well then.’

‘Well then.’

The two looked at each other across the table. One had prepared by overseeing all that had already been done, and the other had recollected all her knowledge on winters at Winterfell, but where did one start discussing everything that had to do with winter?

‘Perhaps, my lord, you could tell me about the current state of affairs. Regarding harvesting: what do you save?’

‘We’ve always kept cloth of all kinds so more clothes can be purchased to keep warm, a lot of wood for the hearths, food is of course more difficult to preserve for a long time. Therefor we decided that it would not be wise to start saving up on things like grains long beforehand. We awaited the announcement of autumn to start food preparations of food that spoils easily. But Highgarden and Oldtown started preparing three years ago, and my father forced all his lords to start preparing by the previous year at the latest. Right now all of our lords already have quite a storage hard dried meats, smoked meats and brined meats. There’s also the confits of meat, vegetables and fruits. We’ve started on saving up on cheeses three years ago and all lords have quite a lot of that stored right now. We have pickled vegetables. We made sweet preserves on honey and sugar of all kinds of fruits, and even some vegetables. And –‘ he paused, retrieving the book he’d been writing in from a pocket inside of his coat.

‘We have a lot of fermented drinks, of course. A lot of wine and stronger spirits. We’ve perfected our storage technique the past summer. We now have the perfect containers for storing them. They don’t deteriorate as quickly as they used to. We’ve been adopting the techniques used in the Arbor.’

Alayne nodded, taking it all into account. They were common methods, and were used a lot in the North as well. He had also thought about clothing and wood, two important and smart things.

‘How many years would you get through, with your current supply?’ Alayne asked.

‘Right now?’ Willas asked, leafing through his book.

‘It is hard, since we do not know how much the people consume, and we have to take the smallfolk into account… and Kings Landing as well. I have tried calculating it, but it is difficult’, he admitted.

He sighed, staring at his book.

‘I am uncertain, partially due to my calculations. The only numbers me and my father’s bannermen are sure of, is what is consumed within the castles.’

‘You are sure of?’ Alayne wondered. Was it not the responsibility of the current lord and his wife? It was usually the wife and the castellan that did the calculations in regards to food supply.

‘Since I am the next lord, my father and grandmother decided my first official task as heir would be to ensure the wellbeing of my people and the future winter. Of course, I still pass everything by them. They are older and more experienced, I trust their judgement’, he answered, quickly explaining that he was the one in charge without appearing to be overstepping his station.

It was a smart thing too, it left Lord Mace with the time to think about the present and the political manoeuvring of his house.

‘To come back to it,’ Willas said business-like, ‘and without giving numbers. If the castle is fully packed, which it is in summer and will be in winter when many smaller branches of our family and many smaller houses flock to us to sit out winter, we have at present a three year supply of meat and dairy in Highgarden, and a two year supply of vegetables and fruits. This is based on what is consumed in summer.’

It was too little. It had been the longest summer, if the winter would be as long, Highgarden would not survive.

‘This is not taking into account the consumption pattern of the smallfolk living outside of the castle but within Highgarden?’

‘No’, Willas admitted. ‘We do not have figures for it.’

‘Is this taking into account the stock you had prepared for your smallfolk throughout the Reach? And any additional extras for trade or to give to the crownlands?’ Alayne pressed on.

‘No. We have a separate storage for it. But it’s even more hopeless to calculate that. We don’t know how many people live in the crownlands. We do not know how many people live in the Reach. We have no clue about the demand either.’

‘Demand will by high outside of Highgarden, the westernlands and riverlands are destroyed by war. It would surprise me if they managed to save anything once the war broke out’, Alayne admitted.

Willas nodded.

‘I know. It was bad already. We were aiming to have a five year supply in Highgarden, and a larger stock to trade with other regions as well, by the end of this year. But once Margaery became engaged to the prince we started sending so much food to show our support and the strength of our region that a lot of what we planned to save was given instead.’

‘Can’t you estimate the demand based on the amount you send to the Crownlands right now, but double it, since they will not have a lot of storage and no fields to harvest from?’ Alayne asked.

‘I could’, Willas admitted. ‘Very roughly, but I could. If you allow me?’ he asked.

Alayne nodded. The prince took a nearby quill and ink jar standing on the table as he did the maths.

His lips pulled tout, forehead scrunching with every calculation he made.

Alayne wondered how old he was. Older than her, that was for sure. He had to be older than Garlan, who was twenty-three. That made him four-and-twenty at youngest. His parents were still in their forties though. Sansa did not know how soon lady Alerie and Lord Mace married, but he could not be over thirty. Would he be as old as her previous husband? Or Sandor? She had to supress a smile at her silly calculations while he was working out how many mouths he could feed.

‘In the worst case, that they need twice as much… A little over a year.’

‘Oh’, she could not say more. She did not doubt the two men she had previously thought of would have a much richer vocabulary to express the absolute dread and misery of the prospect.

‘You call it worst case. How would you calculate it?’ Alayne asked.

Lord Willas pushed himself to a stance, pacing to the balcony, hand gripped around his cane.

‘It is not a calculation. It is a guess. There are things I am taking into account. I am not proud to admit it, and it is not nice to admit it, but I do’, he responded.

‘The War has lasted over a year. It is the main reason why many do not have enough food for winter in storage, but on the other hand it did wonders for the population. It wiped entire villages of the maps, but mostly took every able bodied man no matter the age. Thousands and thousands have died. And without men, there will be little new children. So we have lost many mouths in need of feeding, and will not gain many more in the months to come there were the war hit hardest, and the largest needs are’, he explained.

‘It is true’, she confirmed begrudgingly.

‘Perhaps it was a mercy, that many died before winter even arrived. I hope many more will die. I would not wish it so, but it is either this or dying of starvation. The world can rebuild after winter. We always rebuild.’

‘My lord’, Alayne gasped.

‘It is cold, but is it not true? The less mouths we have to feed, the more people we can feed and keep alive’, he explained passionately.

‘They are fathers, sons, children.’

‘They always are, everybody is!’ he protested.

‘Everybody dies. Everybody wishes to die at an old age by natural causes but it is not to be. I want to fight for the living, but the less living there are the easier I can protect them. If I have five trees and five people, I can give each a tree filled with fruit. If I have a hundred people and five trees, I will have to be a lot crueller. Let them die, before they suffer.’

It was mercenary, but on the other hand, he did not send his people off to die. He was doing everything to keep his people alive. Willas was the only man in his family not actively involved in warfare.

‘And the other thing.’

‘I should not say.’

‘Is it not important?’

‘I need your silence’, he begged, twisting around to look her in the eye. She did not flinch, and gave a solemn nod.

‘Your father assisted in the murder of a king’, Lord Willas said.

‘Yes, as did your family.’

‘Yes. Now my sister is queen, married to a more stable and gentle king’, Lord Willas explained.

‘We love peace, it is when we prosper. We don’t want another power vacuum. We don’t want war. We are for negotiations with words, not swords. But it appears Cersei Lannister has decided for us’, Lord Willas explained. ‘Even though we have helped the crown financially since King Robert’s reign, without seeing the debt returned. And now we have been giving away our resources. And as a reward, she accuses my sister of crimes punishable by death. She ignores my advice. And she denies my requests’, he growled.

Alayne absorbed the information. So Lord Willas had been ignored by the queen. And the crown not only owed debt to the Lannisters but to the Tyrells as well.

Could the king go bankrupt? What happened then?

‘I hope that peace returns. That we can finally lay down our arms, return to our homes, and prepare for winter. If that is possible with Margaery as queen in Kings Landing, I will be happy. However, if they harm her. If something happens to her, it would be easy to use winter and a lack of reserves as an excuse to stop sending food to them.’

‘You would make them starve?’ Alayne gasped.

Willas remained silent.

‘But the people can’t help it.’

‘I know. It is sad that they have to be punished. But it is one of the few ways to apply pressure and to punish, without straight out rebellion. And if we’re lucky, the people will start protesting the King.’

‘The people are poor, unarmed and hungry. They cannot lead an uprising. They will just cry for help and die in their homes with empty bellies, asking the seven why they deserved to die that way.’

‘I know.’

‘After they have already suffered seeing all men in their family die one by one.’

‘I know!’

Before she could blink his hand twisted and drew a longer dagger out of his cane, the long stick falling to the ground.

Alayne froze at the sight of the weapon. She was in the room alone with him, and though on a technical level she knew it would be stupid of him to hurt her, she could not help her instincts. She was immediately drawn back to the courtroom in Kings Landing. He lifted his hand and slammed it down into a wooden block right on the side of the balcony. There were many holes in the piece of wood, that appeared to have been put up for this exact purpose.

The future lord heaved as his dagger remained stuck in the wood, his arm hanging onto it for support.

She’d gone too far. She should have been charming him, instead she was morally judging him while he had already started out with saying his thoughts were dark and incorrect.

A distant memory of the sound of shrieking hawks and clattering and breaking things in the room above her as she had sat in Lady Alerie’s quarters downstairs came to her again. The ladies had merely shrugged and explained it with ‘Lord Willas.’

 _“Sweet, gentle, pious Willas”._ How much of Lord Baelish’ statement remained standing? He was no firm believer, he worshipped science above the seven. And he had appeared sweet and gentle, but had been deceitful, cunning and now aggressive. She wondered how Lord Baelish could describe him like that. Had Lord Willas managed to deceive him? She appraised him anew.

He appeared to be very much a caged lion. Loras was a hothead, Garlan a brave warrior, both his brothers excelled at bloodshed. And he had planned on being just like them. He had rushed into a tourney before he was old or experienced enough. He had applied himself to his studies only after his chances of becoming a knight were dashed. Perhaps he was not made for this life either, and had only by circumstance been forced into the mould of a gentle, studious diplomatic lord while his temper and restlessness still lurked beneath.

But she quelled her growing unease. All men were capable of violence, and probably all women too. The Imp had hit his nephew in a full throne room, the Hound’s bloodthirsty reputation preceded him, her own brother Robb had killed, even her father. And Queen Cersei was violent, as was her sister Arya, and even she herself had at one time wished to push Joffrey off of the wall.

The Hound was right.

_“The world is built by killers. So you better get used to looking at them.”_

Alayne squared her shoulders, took a deep breath and eyed him coolly.

‘I apologize, my lady. I try to control my temper, but it appears I have been failing at it as of late. I know it was bad of me to say so. I do not wish to starve anyone, really. Please, before I would do such a thing my sister would have to be harmed. I hope it is evident I do not wish for that to happen at all.’

‘I know my lord. You said so in advance. I apologize for accusing you. You are already helping them when they are not your responsibility. You are right. The crown has neglected to protect its people. Too many lords were busy playing the game of thrones to prepare for winter as well. And now winter is coming and they can hide in their castles while their people starve. It is not your fault my lord, your family kept your lands save and unharmed through politics, as did the Vale. May we hope that we both get out of winter relatively unharmed.’

He threw her a small wistful smile.

‘I sincerely hope so. I wish nobody would have to suffer. A fairy tale’, he sighed, drawing back his dagger. 

‘Might I suggest we return to our discussion?’ Alayne asked as she softly approached him.

She picked up the cane and offered it to him. He smiled gratefully, and sheathed the dagger so he could use his cane again.

He nodded, walking out onto his balcony to oversee Highgarden. The view was unparalleled to anything she’d seen before. She could see amazingly far, across all acres and the river, to the towns dotting the horizon, and even a castle looming far away, and ships on the Mander. Looking down, she could see the gardens.

‘I take it the meat is kept in dry storage rooms?’

Lord Willas nodded quietly, apparently having exhausted his anger.

‘You have many of those?’

‘Yes.’

‘With space left, still?’

‘Yes.’

So more food could easily be added. Good, she reasoned.

‘At present I would not kill more livestock than necessary. Eventually, animals die and then they become meat, but before that, you can still use them for dairy. And that way you also have some fresh meat.’

Willas nodded in silence again.

'Do you have ice rooms? To keep food for longer periods of time?’

‘We have some cellars, yes. To keep our food cool in summer.’

‘Good, you’ll need them in winter too. To extend the life of fresh meat for example.’

He nodded.

‘I know. That’s what we did last winter, even though we still had a good amount of animals. We were being careful.’

‘Do you have greenhouses?’

Now he was looking at her.

‘Glass rooms where the sun can shine and naturally heat the plants, eventually with a hearth to keep spreading heat? There can be plants planted into soil if the greenhouses are located on earth. The top layer of earth shall not freeze if the room is constantly kept warm. The abundance of plants also helps keep a humid climate. And then there are conservatories.’

She had one faint memory of running through a hot humid greenhouse as a toddler. It had been a nice hot place, even though the snow outside was taller than her.

‘No. We don’t have them.’

‘Do you have any brick rooms in which you could install planters?’

‘How many rooms?’

‘As many as you want and need to grow plants, my lord.’

‘Yes, I do. Do they need heat and windows?’

‘Well, the greenhouses are for plants needing a lot of heat and sunlight, or at least a certain measure. All plants grow faster and better with sunlight, but right now I am thinking about plants needing minimal sunlight. But all require heat. Somewhere around the temperature of a hall, though more will always be better.’

‘We have such rooms, yes.’

‘Good, there foods like Beans, cabbage, peas, cauliflower, celery, turnips, leeks, potatoes, carrots, arrugala, spinach, all kinds of radishes, scallions, garlic, basil, mint, parsley and rosemary can be grown.’

‘Good to hear. I thought we’d have to survive on long-lasting vegetables like carrots and potatoes all winter’, he tried to smile.

‘No, my lord. Tell me, does it snow in the Reach?’

‘A little bit. Never reached beyond my ankle though. And it never stuck around for longer than a month. My grandmother is a Redwyne. She’s seen many winters, but in Oldtown the weather is incredibly mild. In winters where large parts of the population died, Oldtown remained fine. I don’t know what the North is like, but they would probably call it autumn weather. Even though the winters started getting shorter when she married my grandfather, she told me they were stronger than any winter she’d experienced farther south. So they’re not worried. The Reach has always survived as it is now. But I’m afraid. My grandmother still remembers many stories of long and harsh winters when even Oldtown was covered in snow, and ice shards floated in the sea. She told stories of southerners risking the dangerous trip by both and by carriage through very large mountains of snow, trying to get to Dorne. But the mountains were even more uninhabitable, and people barely ever made it through the mountain range. By boat was the only option. But inland, the rivers were frozen, and so people could not reach a sea harbour. If we are to have such a winter again’, Willas shook his head, staring into the distance.

‘Let us hope the winter shall follow the usual pattern’, Alayne offered kindly.

‘Summer didn’t, why should winter?’ he shot back darkly.

It was what she had thought for a long time. And a dark part of her even longed for it. A long hard winter, in which all lords would pay with huge losses. She hoped the most cruel houses would be wiped out. It would be a divine justice. They had turned against the house warning everyone that Winter was coming, and now Winter would come and claim them.

The Boltons stole the North, may they freeze in my Winterfell they destroyed, she had thought late at night.

May the Lannister lions drop one by one. Their gold would not keep them warm.

And house Frey, with Lord Frey’s dozens and dozens of children. So many mouths to feed, may they starve.

She only wished it wouldn’t be at the cost of the smallfolk.

‘No reason’, Alayne answered.

They remained silent for a long while. Her eyes took in the tiny figures of servants working in the nearby kitchen gardens, and the gardeners and ladies in the decorative gardens. Her gaze travelled further, to the tiny stone houses in the second circle. Stone was good, better than wood. Wood did not keep the cold out during winter. Talking about cold.

‘Does Highgarden have hot springs?’

‘Pardon me?’

‘Hot springs, warm water from underground.’

‘There is one hot spring, it’s a laundry place in the palace. Why?’

‘It’s useful. In Winterfell.’

‘Winterfell’s walls are heated by it, isn’t it?’ he asked, quickly catching on.

Alayne’s eyes widened.

‘Yes indeed’, she stuttered in surprise.

‘I had this phase where I was crazy about architecture, around the time I visited Dorne’, he confessed with a small smile, the memory carrying the fondness of an untroubled youth but the heaviness of loss.

‘It was the first time I’d seen an other style of architecture than Highgarden. I couldn’t wait to see more of the architecture and design of other palaces… I asked Oberyn to learn more about it.’

He shook his head, a joyless smile tugging at his lips.

‘Perhaps if only I had trained more instead of spending my days in some Dornish library. I didn’t appreciate the choice between being a man of study and a man of action.’

He never left Highgarden after that, or at least not that Alayne had heard. She marvelled at the titbit of information, about the blend of youthful recklessness and studiousness.

‘Did you not care for jousting?’

‘I did. Of course I did. I never felt as alive as when I was in the saddle. Back when my grandfather was alive, or at least the six years I knew him, he was obsessed with horses and hawks. It’s him who passed on his hobbies. As a child, they would have to drag me off my pony, or I’d ride it all day. It was only when I caught some illness and was homebound for two weeks that I became interested in books. Books weren’t alive, they weren’t as interesting or shiny like those magnificent knights. As a child, you can’t help but be attracted to things like animals and knights. And then there was my father, always telling me and Garlan stories about knights and wars and tourneys right before bedtime. The best stories were the stories he told about Leo Longthorn. Garlan and I often pretended to be Lord Leo and Ser Rhysling as we pretend-jousted. Our father gifted us sticks with horseheads and soft lances. We pretended to joust against each other’, Lord Willas smiled.

‘Once I grew old enough to really train, I pretended to be Lord Leo, and Garlan played Prince Aegon. I was his wise old mentor, and he the young and promising next generation. Our father indulged our obsession, our mother was a little bit afraid of our fanaticism. As always, mother turned out to be right. Father encouraged me to join the lists in Dorne and I was cocky enough to do it, foolish enough to think I had a chance at success, and dumb enough to not train as much as I could while there.’

‘It is the most common flaw in young men, to think the world of themselves’, Alayne said quietly.

‘When you just learn something, you feel powerful. It’s only once you’ve been at it for a while, you realize just how much you don’t know. I thought my accident had made me wiser than most at six-and-ten. Then at eight-and-ten I thought I was smarter than I was before. Now I look back on eight-and-ten and I just shake my head. This time though, I know that if I look down on me then, I’ll look down on myself at my present age in a couple years.’

‘We work with the knowledge and experience we have’, Alayne comforted him. ‘That is not wrong. We aim to do the best we can with the means we have. It is not our fault we do not have more experience. Right now, you are being as prudent as you can with the knowledge you have. I do not think many lords are consulting with northern lords on how to tackle winter, that is a wise move.’

Lord Willas did not respond.

Alayne’s eyes trailed further, to the fields and the Mander.

The Mander!

‘Lord Willas, when do you plan on harvesting the final crops?’

‘Those that aren’t ripe for harvest will remain until they are. I shall give them every chance to ripen. It may be our last harvest.’

‘But if it freezes, those crops shall be spoiled.’

‘Yes but we don’t go to freezing temperatures right away, do we? First, temperatures need to drop, then it’ll freeze.’

‘Yes.’

‘The same with rain. It’s been raining a lot, lately, but though the corn had to be harvested early, it was better than having it rot.’

Alayne nodded.

‘My lord, did you ever fear the Ironmen would sail down the Mander?’ she tried carefully.

‘I did’, he admitted. ‘Once they took the Shields, my heart stopped. I thought that would be the end of it. Our troupes were all gone. I would have to make do with the garrisons left behind, and the smallfolk. No small amount of defenders, but it’s not a full army. I’ll take care of the Shield Islands at the soonest opportunity.’

‘But they didn’t. sail down the Mander.’

‘No, I know that. My lady, where are you going with this? We were talking about crops. About winter. This is military matter.’

‘I know’, Alayne admitted. ‘However… this has to do with winter. There aren’t a lot of crops growing on the Iron Islands. They survive on trade and fishery. Winter is coming for them too. They will need food. I just thought… What if they return home after whatever they are currently doing? They’ll have to pass by the Shields again.’

‘You think they’ll stop by Highgarden to pick up food on their way home’, Willas decided.

Alayne nodded, anxiously anticipating how he would perceive her meddling. Would he be annoyed? Had he thought of this? Would he be impressed? Would he distrust her.

‘I considered the possibility. It is not unlikely. After all, had they stopped here first the crops would have rotted.’

His reasoning was the same as hers.

‘Whenever they were in need of dairy or greens, they pillaged a coastal village instead. Never enough to stock up, only their current needs.’

Alayne nodded.

‘Does this worry you, my lady?’

‘I admit it did. The thought snuck up on me as I was in an orchard yesterday.

Willas nodded.

‘The fences and irrigation system should slow them down if they landed on the riverbanks. And our arrows shoot very far. Our crops and orchards would be ruined though. But it would take them weeks to get here again, and that is both enough time for the harvest to wrap up, and enough time to unroll my plans to prevent them from sailing down the Mander. I’m working on it, don’t worry’, he smiled tiredly.

Alayne bent her head low.

He threw a last look at the Mander before he walked back to the table and gazed at the clock.

‘Perhaps we should stop here for today. Thank you, lady Alayne’, he nodded, supressing a yawn.

Alayne curtsied.

‘Any plans for today?’

Alayne’s cheeks burned as she thought of her plans.

‘Nothing special my lord, just some typically female entertainment’, she admitted.

Lord Willas nodded with a small smile.

‘I believe I heard you and your companion sing the previous night. A pleasant way to pass the evening, it seems.’

Alayne could hear her heartbeat in her ears.

‘You did?’

‘Yes. I went to bed early and passed by your door. I decided to take your advice to sleep some more.’

His smile widened.

‘I believe I now know every spot on my ceiling by heart’, he joked.

‘I’m afraid you got it wrong, my lord’, Alayne responded with faked worry and compassion. ‘Sleeping is done with the eyes closed.’

He laughed out loud at that, which made her smile.

‘Are you always like this?’

‘I apologize, my lord. My tongue runs too quickly from time to time.’

But secretly, she was glad her teasing worked to cheer him up that quickly.

‘You should better use it for singing. I take it you’re going to participate in the competition’, he smirked, leaning on his cane.

‘We all must, apparently. I don’t really feel like I should participate. I’m not even from the Reach.’

‘If Reach legends are to be believed, there’s even Garth Greenhand blood mixed with that of the Starks of Winterfell’, he smiled. ‘You’re a maiden, your origin doesn’t matter.’

‘Can you see yourself going through the ceremony with Littlefinger’s bastard?’ Alayne laughed incredibly, raising her eyebrows.

It was meant in jest, but a part of her hoped that he would say yes.

Lord Willas grimaced.

‘I don’t really see myself going through the ceremony with anyone’, Lord Willas said.

Alayne grew silent.

‘They told me there was dancing, and jumping through fire.’

Lord Willas nodded.

‘I can walk. So I can probably dance, though not as gracefully. And it’ll be a very easy dance but the jumping…’ he shook his head.

‘Usually when a lord gets too old, he passes it onto his heir. Now my father is absent and the heir already needs to pass it on to the next.’

‘If we have a harsh winter, they are _so_ going to blame me because I have failed to jump or do something other part of the ritual.’

He threw her a sad smile.

‘I’ve been trying to find a way to fix it but I haven’t. I’ll have to jump and hope I won’t get burned.’

‘They say wool is a safe fabric to wear around fire’, Alayne offered.

That earned her a shoulder bump from the now scowling heir of Highgarden.

‘How kind of you’, he huffed.

‘What does my lord want me to say? You will probably not get burned.’

‘Now that you said that I will definitely get burned and come out like the Hound or something’, he grumbled unhappily.

‘Coming out as one of the strongest and most intimidating men of the Seven Kingdoms is a bad thing?’ Alayne teased.

‘I’m sure his face will work to his benefit in battle. But a diplomat with a burned face? Now that’s something else.’

‘You are still the heir of Highgarden, my lord. What are they going to do? Are they going to stop doing business with Highgarden because the lord looks less pretty? That would be stupid.’

‘Yes, but without a doubt I’ll get a charming nickname. The Crispy Rose or the Toasted Tyrell, without a doubt. An ugly rose’, he sighed.

Alayne thought it wise to not point out that Ser Loras’ injuries would make him the ugliest Tyrell without competition. And that while he had been the most beautiful one. It would without a doubt lead to many jokes as well.

‘My lord, I really do not wish to be rude, but almost every lord and important person has an uncharming nickname. Take my father, or Lord Tully, or Lord Tyrion, or the Dornish princes, or Lord Varys. It is only a matter of time. And right now, you still don’t have one.’

‘And the people would have an easy time creating a nickname due to my leg. Yes’, Lord Willas sighed.

‘I wonder if I am spared because I have not met many people from outside the Reach, and the people inside wouldn’t dare laugh about the next heir… You are right though. A name will come, whether I do something stupid or not.’

‘Just comfort yourself in the knowledge that Tyrion Lannister married Sansa Stark even though his face was horrendously scarred. And almost all men will return from the war with scars and lost limbs… If they return at all. Joking about a crippled lord when they are without limb seems a bit silly, no?’ she smiled.

Lord Willas smiled sadly.

Did he smile sadly due to his lost limb? Or because she had reminded him that the maiden he was supposed to marry, had been married to someone else.

 _If you only knew Sansa Stark was standing right in front of you,_ she mused.

‘You’ll be a treat to any lady, I dare say, everything is still intact’, Alayne smiled. ‘Most will have to choose which body parts they value more in a man.’

Willas shook his head.

‘I’m trying not to smile.’

‘Oh but do, my lord. There are so few things to laugh about.’

‘A truly motivational speech, my lady’, he smiled.

‘Now, go and have fun preparing for the competition and leave me to brood over the troubles. Try smiling for the both of us.’

‘As my lord commands’, she bowed as she left the room.

Willas Tyrell was one confusing and complex man, Alayne thought to herself.

It appeared she had a thing for that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) Thank you everyone for your kind comments.
> 
> 2) For anyone wondering: Many men have shades of red in their beards, even when they are nowhere near redheads. I know in aSoIaF genetics are probably stronger than in the normal world, but I thought I’d incorporate this. After all, Sansa has never met her uncle, and right now he’s her only known remaining relative. So it would make sense for her to sometimes think about him.


	7. Choosing a solstice maiden

_**Willas POV** _

Enemies in the North, enemies in the West, enemies in the South, and potential enemies or friends in the East. And then there was a fucking enemy right in the middle of his city, and it took the shape of a damned ritual out to show just how crippled and useless he was.

Willas unscrewed the bottle of milk of the poppy on his bedside. He hated having to do it, but it had been days since his last good rest. He needed to sleep to be alert tomorrow. These were important busy days.

He couldn’t believe five-and-twenty years had passed in peace, only for everything to go to hell in the six-and-twentieth year of his life. Going seven-and-twenty in the next year, there was little chance of things improving. It was a belated welcome into the adult world, he supposed.

Even though the moon stood high in the sky, his mind was still going over all threats trying to find a solution to them.

King Stannis was still doing mysterious things in the North, and Willas could only hope Winter would finally put an end to him.

Cersei still held King’s Landing in her grasp. His sister would face trial soon and his father was stationed outside of the gates. And now Cersei and Margaery were within the same keep. Margaery was withing her reach. He didn’t like it at all. He’d heard about ladies disappearing from the castle, and shouting heard late at night. And now Cersei named a new man a member of the Kingsguard. Ser Robert Strong. Nobody could tell him where the man came from or who he was. He was as tall as the Mountain, and just as wide, and his face was always covered by a helmet. He didn’t speak. It was highly suspicious. Could he still be alive?

Willas could not rest easily until he knew one of them was out of that castle. If it were up to him, he would get his sister out of King’s Landing. His father’s ambitions be damned. He rather have a living sister than a dead queen.

Euron was raiding the Western coasts of the Reach and making his way down South.

Garlan was racing south to help Oldtown.

And in the East, a prince had landed in Storm’s End. Willas knew not how serious they aught to take this boy who claimed to be Aegon Targaryen. He desperately wished to talk about it with his grandmother, but he could not trust a raven with the news.

But one thing was clear: they could not ignore him. Back during the War of the Five Kings, they hadn’t believed the Greyjoy King could do a lot but now a second Greyjoy king posed an actual threat. They had not made that mistake with the other kings. They had always considered the possibility of the other kings succeeding. They had managed to bet on King Renly which had been Loras’ idea, switch to King Joffrey which had been his grandmother’s idea, and had tried to become connected to King Robb Stark, which had also been his grandmother’s idea. It had failed, but so did Robb, so it wasn’t a great loss that their attempt at marrying Willas to Sansa Stark failed. His grandmother had even written to him: “It is a relief that we have not wed you to the Stark girl now that her brother wound up dead. Now we are still free to marry you off whenever the need to strengthen an alliance rises.”

But with his father and grandmother absent, it was up to him to strengthen alliances and play the game. And personally, he preferred to do it through financial and military support instead of through his hand in marriage. He was already growing weary of the game, his chambers were his only retreat. And what a cold lonely retreat it was. He grew up knowing his match would likely be a political one, but he could not help but want what his parents and brother had. Perhaps everything would be more bearable, if there was someone kind and understanding awaiting him to spend the quiet hours, and preferably the night as well. If only.

He swallowed a small glass of the liquid. _Please let dreams come and find me_ , he prayed.

Through his connection with Oberyn, he’d come to be on a better foot with the Martells than his family before him. It had been the only good thing to come from that fateful tourney. Arianne Martell would be sailing out to meet the boy, and was to let Willas know whether Aegon was a legitimate Targaryen. It would be harder to broker an alliance since Margaery was married to the king who had to be discarded for Aegon to take the crown. But Willas was sure some solution could be found. It would not be the first time Margaery was married to the wrong king. He already had some ideas. He would not mind if all Lannisters dropped dead. There was a vengeful spirit in him he usually supressed, and right now it wanted blood. It wanted blood for the way their ambitions had made the realm bleed, had forsaken their people, and had even tried hurting the Tyrells.

 _We will only grow stronger_ , he promised the Lion Queen in his head.

By the time Winter is over, you will be gone too.

Winter.

He shivered as he crawled deeper beneath his sheets. It was getting colder at night, it had for months. When autumn was first announced, there had been no signs of it in the Reach, but ten months ago it had started raining more frequently, and temperatures had slowly but steadily dropped. Women usually never wore long sleeves except for official occasions. Now they only wore short sleeves when the sun was shining its hardest. Willas didn’t mind that though, men’s fashion had still comprised of underclothes, linen, doublets and vests, the men had always melted away unless they ignored fashion rules. Women dominated the fashion industry, and it was clear that they had thought about the practicality of their own clothes but not of men’s. He was glad he wasn’t sweating as much anymore when he dressed up.

Not that he was the epitome of fashion. There had been a time when he wore the most fashionable clothes and prettiest fabrics. But once he’d gotten injured those days were over. He’d been bedbound for seven moon turns. And then when he’d learned how to walk again it had soon become clear that only the baggiest breaches and long loose pants would work. A brace wouldn’t fit under them when he wanted to hide his weakness. And when he was just sitting down tight fabrics would cut into the already sensitive muscles. By the time he had the headspace to consider fashion again, he’d lost his appetite for it. Leave it to the women and his brothers, he reasoned. Doran Martell’s body was also cursed, and he never cared for his looks either, and he was known as a great mind. Let him be known for his mind.

Of course, this was his resolve, but whenever he saw a pretty maiden flirting with his brothers, or saw a beautiful girl himself, he of course felt self-conscious of his looks and legs. It could not be helped. But then he thought about all real problems he had, and his vanity was quickly smothered.

Winter would reach them soon. He’d already advised the sons and brothers of his father’s bannermen to install greenhouses and create rooms to grow vegetables and fruit inside. He had promised to help out financially if need be. Not helping them would only result in them knocking on his door for help in winter, and he preferred not to share Highgarden’s food supply if he could prevent it. And refusing help altogether would mean many lords would hold grudges against House Tyrell in spring, and Willas didn’t want war. Let the war remain in autumn. Spring was a time to rebuild.

The young lords had not questioned Willas’ plea. Actually, those from houses living nearest to the Crownlands had told him their family had written to them about icy rain and more cloudy days than sunny ones.

Amaury Peake, son of Titus Peake, had told the council that his house, situated at the base of the Red Mountains, already had greenhouses since the mountain range had faced cold and harsh winters in the past. The greenhouse had been there since before they lost their other two castles. This got the attention of the other young lords, so they had started asking him a lot of questions.

Willas was relieved he did not need to start explaining what Alayne had told him about greenhouses in the northern regions. The longer he could keep his deal with Alayne silent, the better. He was elated that his proposed plans were so warmly accepted. He’d also received many questions though, young lords wanting to do more and know more. He’d penned down all questions and reflections to present them to Alayne the next day.

He was glad his plan of a Reach Council was working out so well. His father was a stout believer in regional authority and the right of self-governance. Willas believed his father was just lazy. Since Willas couldn’t travel to keep his bannermen in check, he made the young sons of lords or their brothers come to him instead.

Having them all around created a feeling of unity and a sense of being heard. Highgarden was no strange place only sending out ravens to demand resources and money. To the younger generation House Tyrell was not just the house of social-climbing stewards that held the seat of power despite their weak claim. To Willas it was vital that all houses felt they could trust House Tyrell and rely on them to rule in a way that made the whole Reach prosperous. Almost all noble houses had a better claim than House Tyrell. The least Willas could do was work on legitimizing his power claim and making sure his lords supported him. Robb Stark may have died, but it was not because the North did not stand behind him. All others had declared themselves king, but Robb had been named. Willas admired that.

A stable region, loyal bannermen, military prowess, wide acclaim, a pretty wife. At just seventeen, Robb Stark had almost everything Willas had ever dreamt of. Had he not been betrayed by House Frey, how would Westeros now be? Would Tommen still comfortably sit on the throne? Would the Boltons be in Winterfell? Would King Stannis still roam Stark lands? Willas doubted it. He sometimes wondered what their world would look like if things were different. Sometimes, he wondered about big changes, like Robb Stark winning.

Sometimes, he thought about minor changes, like somebody losing a battle.

Sometimes he wondered if his sister was off worse with Joffrey dead and within the clutches of his evil mother, or if things would have been better if the cruel prince was still alive.

Sometimes, he didn’t wonder about others at all. Sometimes he wondered about himself.

What if he hadn’t wrecked his body in a desperate attempt to fulfil his father’s wishes? Would he be all brawn no brain? Or a perfect knight like Garlan? Or would his ego have gotten him injured anyway? He’d always been so cocky and arrogant in the past, just like Loras and his father he’d believed himself to be invincible until he was confronted with his mortality.

What if he had married Sansa Stark? Would it influence their ties to the Lannisters? Would it be a problem with Aegon appearing on the eastern shores? What would happen to Winterfell now that there were no male heirs left? Would they have to make their first son heir of Highgarden and the second Lord of Winterfell? He doubted any parent dreamt of sending their child to the other end of the realm.

But sometimes, practicalities didn’t matter. He knew that when his grandmother had written to him about Sansa Stark, she had only been a maiden of four-and-ten, but in his dreams he was allowed to dream. He was just a lonely man, after all, who spent all his days inside of a castle working for his family and region. He didn’t have time for women in his real life, so he only had his dreams.

He dreamt of a maiden with hair the colour of fire, eyes the blue of the summer sky, and lips as red as roses. He dreamt about her playing harp with Leonette as Margaery sang, all of them reunited in the family parlour as they had been in the past. He thought about taking her riding, and laying her down in a field of flowers like in the songs. He thought about arriving to his chambers late after a hard day, and finding her there. It was a silly fantasy, of course. She would be young and inexperienced, traumatized by the brutality of what she had witnessed in King’s Landing, and as far as he knew she only liked songs and the activities of dainty ladies. She was also said to be pious and meek.

He would not want to burden such a young girl with politics, and he doubted she’d be interested in the same things he did. And if they differed so much, how could they match?

The milk of the poppy was slowly spreading through his blood vessels, and his mind slipped further into fantasy. The red hair of the maiden faded, but the bright blue eyes remained.

Alayne. He doubted Sansa Stark would get her hands dirty to help one of his bitches whelp like she had done. Or for her to be as interested in astronomy, history and politics as her. Of course, a daughter of Catelyn Tully and Eddard Stark could be nothing but pretty, dutiful and uncorrupted. Just like a daughter of Lord Baelish could be nothing but hungry for knowledge and understanding of politics and witty in conversation.

‘Can you see yourself going through the ceremony with Littlefinger’s bastard?’ she had asked him.

He could. He wouldn’t mind at all. Rather her than some girl of a minor noble house he only knew the name of to try and seduce him. He could talk to her. And he knew he enjoyed her company. She was easy on the eyes as well.

It was a pity she was a bastard. She was intelligent and sweet and cared for the people of her region, all qualities that were most becoming in a lady. He could also deeply sympathize with her feeling of powerlessness. In his life it were his father and grandmother holding the reigns and his limb limiting him as well.

 _Jenny of Oldstones had been a commoner too,_ his mind whispered traitorously. _Would it not be just as perfect a story?_

A lady growing up unaware of her parentage, turned out to be a child born out of a passionate love, and was then finally found by her father. She left a humble life as a future septa and instead almost became lady of the Eyrie. Then, sent away for unclear reasons, she found herself in the court of roses, and fell in love with the wealthy heir.

And he, a young man broken before his story could even begin, holed up in his castle, could do nothing but watch the world pass by. But then a beauty came in, and carelessly walked past all handsome men of the Reach and decided the crippled broken thing was worth loving.

He slipped further into his dream, where love’s true kiss healed his leg on the night of Solstice. Then, the healed dream Willas, clad in armour even shinier than Loras’ and Renly’s, jumped through the fire and carried the blue eyed maiden through the doors of the castle, leading her to a dance floor where they danced like Leonette and Garlan.

He could remember dancing, remembered the delightful feeling of the music vibrating within his blood and the fear of forgetting the moves. It all came back to him in his dreams.

The dream continued. And just like all married lords of Highgarden did at Solstice Night, he picked up his fair maiden and carried her towards his bedchambers.

And just like that, Willas was swept away.

‘My lord, my lord’, his manservant called out as he shook Willas’ shoulder.

‘Yes?’ Willas answered tiredly.

‘My lord, it’s already past eight.’

‘Right.’

The milk had evidently done its job. Getting up, he could feel the pleasant heaviness in his limbs that signified a long good sleep.

‘Let’s get on with it then’, he decided. His leg was pleased with the rest it had gotten that night and the previous day. He hadn’t done a lot of walking, hadn’t even descended the stairs. He hoped that if he kept himself calm until the celebrations tomorrow, he might be able to stand on it longer.

But he had to do the walk today, to pick the judges for the Maiden Contest.

 _I wouldn’t have to, had I married before_ , he mused. His pleasant dream came back to him, but it only elicited a wry smile as that dream wasn’t reality. In reality he was unmarried, would have to undergo the celebrations with someone he didn’t know, all as she probably tried to gain his favour although he was unable to pick his bride.

Perhaps he should just damn his ‘tactical’ waiting and marry the maiden on solstice. How bad could it be? She would be the most beautiful and talented maiden around, and his question would ensure she had brains too. He could wait until he was grey haired, there would always be a time when it would be handy to have a Tyrell ready to be married for an alliance. And after all, marrying someone on solstice was supposed to be lucky.

‘Updates?’ Willas asked.

Instantly Willas was filled in on the amount of crops harvested the previous day, anything that happened during the night, the letters that had come in and everything that he had to do that day on top of what he had already planned to do.

‘The preparations?’

‘Everything is now set up, only the kitchens are still busy since they are also busy preparing the meat, vegetables and fruits for winter. But they’ll be ready in time. I would advise my lord to check on the sites of celebration though.’

‘Why?’

‘The… fire trench, my lord. The one you have to jump over.’

‘Right.’

Willas was dressed in dark blue and brown and as soon as he’d chased down his breakfast, he was out and about.

The great hall was bustling with activity. Flowers garlands were hung everywhere, and table linen with brightly coloured flowers decked the tables. Vases as tall as men stood in every corner.

All those workforces could be busy harvesting or making clothes, Willas mused. But the celebration had to happen. Unfortunately. He caught the gaze of Maester Lomys, who stood in the doorway.

‘The competition will start in an hour my lord’, the maester announced.

Willas nodded, and the maester joined him on his way out.

All around the castle gate dozens of people were gathered. Willas was grateful that they were so eager to sit on the judgement board. It meant he wouldn’t have to walk very far to elect the seven judges.

He walked over to the first grey haired woman he noticed.

‘Greetings, lady.’

‘¨Milord’, she greeted as she curtsied painfully. She was quite old, he doubted the bowing did her back any good.

‘Do you happen to be married?’

‘I’m afraid my husband has come to pass this year, milord. But he had a good life, and I have strong grandchildren taking care of me.’

‘I am sorry to hear, good lady. Do you happen to have any daughters or granddaughters?’

‘Yes milord, one daughter and three granddaughters’, she declared proudly, her brown eyes glowing with maternal pride.

‘I do not doubt you raise them to be fine young women’, Lord Willas smiled.

‘Yes milord, all tha’s good an’ virtuous. Dutiful strong girls they are.’

‘Then I do not doubt you will make a fine judge for the Maiden Contest. Would you be able to take part in the election process?’

‘I would, milord.’

‘Excellent. They are preparing the great hall inside. You can already join. Food and drink will be provided to you all day and the next for your service.’

‘Oh, thank you milord, bless you and your family!’

Willas smiled and walked on as Maester Lomys declared the crone was chosen. The maester asked her name and wrote it down as Willas walked to the first man he spotted. He was holding some of his equipment and had obviously just ran out of the training yard.

‘Greetings, Ser Abbelard Tyrell’, Willas greeted as he would greet everyone this morning.

The youth smiled and bowed.

‘My lord Tyrell, at your service, my lord.’

‘Tell me, good ser, a knight and a maiden are supposed to be a complimentary fit. Do you know what makes a maiden worthy of defending her honour and waging war?’

‘I do, my lord. A voice as fine as a songbird’s, a temper as sweet as honey, judgement as fair as the Maiden, feet as light as clouds and a beauty to match the inside’, the young ser answered perfectly.

‘Then I do not doubt you will make a fine judge for the Maiden Contest. Would you be able to take part in the election process?’

Abbelard beamed.

‘I would, my lord.’

‘Excellent. They are preparing the great hall inside. You can already join. Food and drink will be provided to you all day and the next for your service.’

This routine was repeated until all seven judges were appointed. Then the crowd dispersed and he continued his walk.

‘You know, perhaps we should have retired the more pagan elements of this celebration’, Maester Lomys said.

‘They’re not just pagan. They’re tradition’, Willas answered gruffly as he tried to place as little weight on his leg as possible while they walked towards the site of the great bonfire.

‘You might have had an easier night without them, my lord. That is all’, said maester Lomys quietly as Willas grew paler the closer they got to the huge bonfire.

A gardener stood near a trench filled with dry looking branches.

‘This is …’

‘Aye, ‘tis’, the gardener answered gruffly.

‘I can see you’ve done good work. Do you happen to have an idea of how high the flames would be?’ Willas asked.

‘Well milord, I ken it’d be knee height still, even tho ‘tis in a ditch.’

‘Yes… Thank you, good day’, Willas nodded politely, turning away before his face turned sour.

Knee height!

Even though the ditch was only about as wide as his lower arm, a knee height fire meant he would have to pull up his legs during the jump. He wouldn’t make it.

‘My lord?’ the maester asked as Willas walked on with a calculating expression the maester knew well.

‘Make sure there isn’t too much wood in those trenches. Tell them I’m afraid that the lady’s robes will catch fire as we make our jump’, Willas told him. ‘Not yet though. Wait until I am inside. Then it’ll seem like I thought of it upon seeing the ladies.’

‘Very well, my lord’, the maester agreed.

If Willas had it his way a giant storm would sweep across the lands tonight and ruin every log and twig, unfortunately, they had enough wood stored inside to light a fire.

Willas glanced inside of the hall where the girls and women were warming their voices. Many had returned to their family homes to prepare their homes for winter. The group of competitors existed of about twenty unmarried noble women, and fifty servant women. Had they done this competition in summer there would be over three hundred people. In a corner, together with his distant blonde Highgarden cousin, he spotted Alayne, the crown of her hair shining red in the light of the stained glass. The sun always brought out the reddish hue.

There was something about her. It tickled the back of his mind every day. He’d tried getting information on her, but there was incredibly little to get. It was almost like she’d popped up out of nowhere the past year. Which was in actuality true, since she’d been raised in a convent of the Faith, there were no little birds in insignificant convents in the Vale so of course birds were only able to pass along information once she arrived in the Eyrie.

Apparently she was a nice girl, taking care of Lord Robin, loved and appreciated by most, quiet and dutiful, like a daughter who really appreciated being recognized by her father. The extends of his recognition of her though… she got many tasks that were quite important for one who was raised by the Faith and was born a bastard. It confused Willas how she could call herself a slow learner, yet apparently knew how to organize a tourney, knew about the architecture in Winterfell and about politics. That was a lot to catch up with in a year, she couldn’t have possibly learned how to do that under the Faith. He could understand her knowledge of history and stories, convents were places of study. However her highborn manners and speech and her ease interacting with people of high station confounded him, as did her musical talent. Perhaps as a daughter of Baelish, who was himself a social climber, she quickly observed and learned so she could climb her way up the social ladder. Besides, she wasn’t lowborn, she was the daughter of a noblewoman and a – back in the day – very small lord.

He believed he could still see traces of her original upbringing within though. She was shy and observant, probably because she was rarely asked to have an opinion by the septa’s and was originally in a very low position. She had an easier time talking to him back when she believed him to be lower in society. She did not shy away from working as she had helped him with the pups and had helped out in the fields the previous day according to his informants, all things high born ladies shied away from. And she was a realist, something maidens of his station only became after an abundance of hardships and pain, which was rare in girls her age.

He loved a good mystery, especially an innocent one such as this, instead the brain breaking questions he had to solve

‘Ah, my lord!’ called the castellan as he spotted Willas’ figure in the doorway. Willas straightened his shoulders and lifted his chin, giving a curt nod as if he hadn’t been daydreaming but analysing the proceedings.

‘How good it is to see you, my lord. As you see, all preparations have been made and we are just about to begin the competition. All judges are already seated, you see? How good it is of you to come. No doubt you are curious to see which one of these fine ladies will join you tomorrow!’

The castellan marched Willas to the long table of seven judges. Immediately he could hear the maidens straightening up and whispering furiously. He was glad that his leg was behaving today. He tried to hit his cane to the ground with a more decisive thud, as if it was merely there to make a stately impression. He did not shy away from public appearances, though a part of him still feared everyone was looking at him to detect weaknesses and find faults.

‘My lord, have you already thought of a theme for the questions?’ asked an elderly spinster who had to participate.

‘I have not.’

_As if I had time for that._

‘To think of themes is to think of questions. And I am not allowed to do that. Wouldn’t want to give anyone an unfair advantage. In a couple of hours, fair ladies, you’ll have them if you make it to the last round. I wish all of you all the luck. May the seven bless you and may the judges be fair and good, and select with wisdom.’

He gave a final nod before leaving the room. There was so much to do and now he had to think of questions instead.

He knew he had until the late afternoon to come up with questions, so he spent his morning doing other things.

He ordered glass and iron for greenhouses, and a lot of wooden boxes for orangeries and indoor vegetables.

Then he went over the daily harvest numbers and sorted through his new letters.

His grandmother would return to Highgarden, her trip starting today. She would probably be back in a couple of weeks’ time.

And Garlan had taken to the rivers of the Reach to make his way south with his troupes.

There was nothing to respond to either of them.

So he responded to the letters from his bannermen, his grandfather, and a slew of letters about trade deals.

Since it was an important day, he decided to make a walk after his lunch and show his face.

The castle was positively buzzing. Servants were talking in every corner.

‘How’s it going?’

‘Are they doing well?’

‘What round are we at?’

‘I heard a blonde lady and a brown haired lady are doing very well.’

‘I’ll be wanting those coins, your bet is already out of the running.’

Everybody was talking about the Maiden Contest.

When they took notice of Willas, conversations were abruptly cut off, people jumped apart, and tasks were quickly taken up again. Women who had been standing still, started wiping their brushes across the floors with vigour again to make up for lost time.

Music filled the halls and stairways from the open hall. Like a theatre the contest kept people entertained, since they could look in and witness the spectacle. A band was playing to keep the participants and judges entertained.

The beauty competition had already been held, and the older women and plainer ones had been sent off. They were now reaching the end of the second round. The young women were all wringing their hands as they watched the judges discuss their embroidery pieces. Willas was curious to see what they came up with. The judges had to line up all pieces in order of how much they liked them, ranking from most to least beautiful, before another seven-and-ten were sent off.

The judges and ladies greeted Lord Willas. He quickly recognized most noble ladies, and some of the servants. He bowed in greeting and went to the line of laid out pieces. The bottom and top were quite decided, it appeared, but they were discussing some twenty pieces in the middle they had difficulty ranking. The bottom ones were very rudimentary. Ugly sloppy stiches, loose threads, plain suns and flowers. Some had even managed to butcher simple grain stalks.

The top was definitely stunning. There were birds carrying flowers, beautiful flower bouquets, bright roses, fountains and mountains filed with fields of crops. The most beautiful one, Willas had to agree with the judges, was a very detailed field with farmers harvesting, clouds in the sky, and the sun in the shape of the golden Tyrell rose shining down on the fields. It was the most summer-y scene of all. It went beyond the roses, which most had made to show their love for house Tyrell. It showed the Reach for what it was: prosperous through farming, rich in resources, and all of the crops were made viable through the warmth of the sun and Tyrell leadership. And not even the farmers, the workers, were forgotten in this story. The stitches were incredibly tiny and refined. Such tiny stitches had to take a lot of time, yet this was one of the more decorated and filled pieces of cloth. The person who made it had to be very trained and fast. He could clearly see which ones had been made by peasants used to mending socks and clothes, which by dressmakers, and which by royal ladies. This had to be a dressmaker’s.

‘We have decided. Fair maidens, come stand in front of your piece’, the septon announced.

The ladies moved forward, walking along the line of pieces to find theirs. Willas remained and watched, interested to see the top five and bottom.

Unsurprisingly, the bottom indeed comprised mostly of poorer women and very young ladies who didn’t have a lot of experience. The top five comprised of three dressmakers, one distant Tyrell cousin and at the first spot… Alayne. She looked as surprised as Willas when she gazed at her piece, as if she couldn’t believe it had gotten first place.

Even better than dressmakers.

‘The bottom seventeen ladies are asked to leave. The remaining three-and-forty beautiful and talented ladies can take a break to restore their energy. Lunch will be served shortly.’

The ladies nodded and went to the tables, while the judges silently talked.

After a short talk with the castellan and septon, he walked over to the septa.

‘Good day, my lord’, she bowed. Willas nodded in response.

‘Are you pleased by our choices?’

‘I cannot disagree with them’, Willas smiled.

‘There are some really talented young ladies present, my lord. You needn’t fear. We’ll find someone worthy to stand by your side’, she responded with an assured but demure smile, never making eye contact.

‘So I noticed. Out of interest, have you seen a lot of embroidery before today?’

‘On the clothes of fine women and men, my lord. But we stick to simpler garb. Fashion is not for us.’

‘So you don’t ever embroider? I thought almost all women learned’, Willas lied in an attempt to get the information he desired.

‘We don’t, my lord. It’s for highborn women and lower born women who have time on their hands. No septa learns it. When we are old enough we are given garments to mend. That’s how we learn to fix holes and tears in fabric. Then we are given textiles and learn to make our own gowns. But we use no adornments. And we don’t embroider to keep occupied either. There are enough clothes to mend, or food to make, prayers to be said and rooms to be cleaned.’

Interesting.

‘Oh, I didn’t know. It makes perfect sense to be occupied as such.’

The septa nodded.

‘Labour is good for the mind and body, but it needs to be useful labour. But I suppose when one has servants to do the other tasks, it is a good way to keep from being idle.’

Willas’ eyes travelled to the tall brown haired girl sitting next to his mother’s cousin. Did she learn to embroider within a year and discovered a natural talent for it?

Something was off about her, and he was going to find out. But he wasn’t in a hurry, there were more important things to think about. And after all, no matter where she came from or however much her backstory didn’t add up with her skills and knowledge, she was a recognized child of Lord Baelish. So whatever she lied about wasn’t important, he was sure of her parentage. Her history changed nothing about her. She remained the illegitimate but recognized daughter of his ally.

Willas left the hall. He only had the time of a dancing, a poetry and a singing contest before his questions were asked. He had to think of some, and quick.

He went up and called for Maester Lomys. He wished he would have his brothers or his sister with him now. They would know what questions were perfect to ask of maidens wanting to become the next Lady of Highgarden. Especially Margaery knew what they had to be able to do. While Garlan would know all about how they should act, while Loras knew what they had to be knowledgeable of regarding literature, floriography, song and other refined themes women were allowed to know a lot about.

Perhaps he should keep it simple, he mused as he arrived in the library. These were young ladies that were meant to show their female accomplishments. A question about songs from the music department, a question about the meaning of a flower, the courses of a dinner, the symbolism of a certain book, and something about the history of Highgarden. Well known topics that were the epitome of female knowledge and courtly Highgarden culture.

‘Yes, my lord, how may I help you?’

‘I need to think of questions for the contest.’

‘Ah.’

‘I’m thinking about asking questions about the common topics: songs, stories, flowers, the Reach, and so on.’

‘Yes, my lord.’

‘But I don’t feel like those would be good questions.’

‘What makes you think so, my lord?’

Willas clenched his jaw. He adored Maester Lomys. He had been his constant bedside companion for months, and had grown close to the wise old maester as he grew older. But he hated how the maester never dared to voice an opinion or advice, he always threw the question back to Willas, every opinion and piece of advice had to be painfully pulled from him.

‘The questions are meant to test their intelligence. Such questions as the ones I think of are pure reproduction. And besides, I feel like… If I have to give them my mother’s role, I should pick the one who is able to think most like her.’

‘Then make up questions about problems you have dealt with in the past and are now dealing with, my lord. See if they follow your train of thought, come up with the same decisions and show an understanding of politics.’

‘Can I do that?’

‘You are free, my lord.’

‘Can you help me?’

‘Under your guidance, if you give me a topic, I will do my best, my lord.’

‘Excellent, thank you. Could you also ask Ser Raymas Fossoway to come and help?’ Leonettes older brother was someone he could always rely upon.

‘Certainly, my lord.’

Books were pulled from shelves and debates were had, but after three hours Willas descended with seven questions on seven sheets of paper, Maester Lomys and Ser Raymas in tow to help choose.

He could hear the sound of a female voice from inside.

_“Sing me a song of a maid that is gone  
Say, could that maid be I?  
Merry of soul she sailed on a day  
Over the sea to Pentos_

_Billow and breeze, islands and seas  
Mountains of rain and sun  
All that was good, all that was fair  
All that was me is gone”_

Willas entered the hall, and the blonde girl’s voice – a cousin of his mother, Willas remembered – wavered.

There were fourteen maidens left in the hall.

The judges nodded and the girl, Amaryllis, Willas remembered, stepped back.

The next came forward. It was one of the noble ladies remaining, a girl of four-and-ten and still very much flat chested and narrow of hips, but she had a sweet face and a sweet voice as she started singing.

_“I'd a pluck a fair rose for my love  
I'd a pluck a red rose blowin'  
Love's in my heart, I'm tryin' so to prove  
What you heart's knowin'  
  
I'd a pluck a finger on a thorn  
I'd a pluck a finger bleedin'  
Red is my heart, wounded and forlorn  
And your heart needin'  
  
I'd a hold a finger to my tongue  
I'd a hold a finger waitin'  
My heart is sore, until it joins in song  
With your heart matin'”_

It was a sweet song, and she had to be quite talented to have gotten so far, but Willas really hoped he wasn’t given a child to do the ceremony with.

Then stepped forward Lady Alayne. She was visibly stressed and hadn’t even looked up from the ground since he entered. Her hands were folded together as she took a deep breath.

_“Come all you fair and tender girls  
That flourish in your prime  
Beware, beware  
Keep your garden fair  
Let no man steal your thyme  
Let no man steal your thyme._

_For when your thyme it is past and gone  
He'll care no more for you  
And every place where your thyme was waste  
Will all spread o'er with rue  
Will all spread o'er with rue._

_The gardener's son was standing by  
Three flowers he gave to me  
The pink, the blue, and the lilac true  
And the red red rosy tree  
And the red red rosy tree._

_But I refused the red rose bush  
And gained the willow tree  
That all the world may plainly see  
How my love slighted me  
How my love slighted me.”_

Perhaps he had better start finding out the truth about her, before a complete stranger snatched his lonely heart. Still she did not look up, and merely stepped backward.

Her voice was truly lovely and gentle, as calm as a mother singing to her children at night. And she had thought she shouldn’t even participate to begin with. Willas thought she had a good chance of winning the whole thing. His heart jumped at the thought of going through it with her. She was the only one of them he’d really talked to, the only one he felt understood by. If she possessed the needed qualities, he really wouldn’t mind having her beside him.

As the final girl set in Jenny of Oldstones, the young knight took Willas apart.

‘My lord, have you prepared the questions?’

Willas nodded, showing the scrolls. The knight beckoned a servant to take them. He picked them and carried them towards a basket filled with flowers remaining from the poetry competition.

‘After this song, we’ll make our final selection.’

‘As is normal’, Willas said.

‘Yes, we know. But my lord, we wonder… Can we select the Vale girl?’

‘Are you going to?’

‘You heard her, my lord, she’s objectively one of the best ones of this round… And all the other ones, I must admit. Truth be told, if she’s as good at the next round as she was at the embroidery and singing one, there’s a good chance she’ll win.’

‘And?’

‘Well my lord, should we allow her the chance to win? Do you mind if that happens?’

She wasn’t even from the Reach. Could they really make her win? Willas hadn’t had any qualms about telling her to participate, but to give the role to a bastard daughter from another region was something else. What sign would it send to the people? Would the local people be insulted? Well, had he married some of his past marriage prospects, like Sansa Stark, his wife wouldn’t have been from the Reach either.

‘Rest easy, good ser, my opinion is of no consequence. The only choice I make is the best answer of the next round. I need to be impartial, just like you judges. The best maiden needs to be selected. The Reach deserves the best one, no matter her background. To choose someone based on preference instead of talent, beauty and intelligence insults the gods. If she is the best, let her through.’

‘Yes, my lord.’

The knight walked back to the table and within five minutes the final seven girls were elected. Amaryllis was out, as were most others. One commoner girl remained between Alayne and the five highborn girls.

‘Welcome, noble and distinguished maidens, to the final round. This round, our ceremonial leader and heir apparent to Highgarden will ask each one of you a question. Behold this turning glass, once all grains of sand have fallen to the bottom, your time to prepare your answer will be up. Quills and ink stand on the table where you have written your poems. Once your questions are read aloud, you get your question on paper. The space you have beneath your question is the space you get to answer. If you cannot read or write, you do not need to make a written preparation.’

‘The innocent impartial servant shall now lay out the seven question.’

The servant shuffled forward and laid down the seven scrolls with the flowers attached to them.

‘Every maiden shall now pick a flower.’

The ladies set upon the table, looking at the rolls as if they could see through them by sheer power of will and analysing the flowers as if they held any meaning. A Merryweather girl picked a daffodil first, then followed an Oldflower girl picking a rose, then came Marigold Rowan of Goldengrove, who chose the Marigold flower, then Alayne picked a delicate white flower, Leona Tyrell picked another type of rose, and then the final two girls made their pick.

‘Maidens, please read your questions aloud.’

Willas was curious to see which one Alayne had picked. He had made up a couple of questions which were perhaps too much like what they had discussed. Had the seven blessed her with an unfair advantage, or hadn’t they?

‘What shall you do when a part of your house joins the side of an enemy of your Lord Paramount?’ read the Merryweather girl. She blanched. It was clear there was a right and a wrong answer here. After Renly’s failed bid for the Iron Throne, many noble houses in the Reach had at least partially crossed over to Stannis’ side. The Tyrells had been merciful, allowing the younger generation to stay with them, like Meredyth Crane who was still part of Margaery’s ladies.

‘What political tactics do you admire most and find most useable that were used by some of the women who ruled in the aftermath of the Dance of the Dragons?’ the servant girl paled as she read her question. Willas cringed, it was an unfair question for her. It wasn’t possible she knew as much about history as the well-educated ladies. But he had been intending well, he’d loved Archmaester Abelon’s _“When Women Ruled’_ , even though it was a behemoth. He believed a good lady was one who knew history and could draw lessons from it for herself.

‘Why are the virtues good maidens are attributed with useful and admired?’ Leona read, she appeared to be pleased with her question. It had been made up by Ser Raymas.

‘Your lord husband is taken hostage by a more important and widely supported family. What do you do?’ read the Oldflower girl. Taking into account that some Reach lords were still imprisoned, though kindly and on friendly terms, in Highgarden, and Willas’ own sister was currently in the clutches of the Faith thanks to queen Cersei, the pressure was once again on.

Willas’ eyes trailed to Alayne. The question had not yet been read. He wondered…

‘Winter is soon upon us. Assume you are the most highly ranked woman of a house, you are in control of the stocks and economy of your house. How would you prepare your house for winter?’ Alayne read, eyes darting up to Willas.

It wasn’t possible.

Willas wasn’t a religious man, but she had survived all rounds, and was now standing there holding the one question she would have the easiest time answering. The odds were one in over seventy that she would survive to this round and get this question, even less, considering the judges didn’t know her and her lack of a ladylike education. It was nothing short of a miracle;

The remaining ladies read their questions and the timer was turned.

They started scribbling furiously, excepting the servant dressmaker girl who just gave up on the spot and left without trying. Willas did feel sorry for the girl, and asked the castellan to send her family a basket with food for her valiant attempt.

When all sand trickled away, the parchment was collected and the three men left the room to read them.

Most who’d gotten political questions had failed horribly. They went for vengeance, which rarely worked, especially since they were women unable to command an army. Some were cleverer, like the Merryweather girl. The cultural questions got good answers, but they were practiced and often relied on commonplace truths as taught by septa’s and septons and maesters.

The Merryweather girl, Leona of the Tyrell cadet branch and Alayne had the best answers by far.

‘I’m inclined to say the most nuanced one, the one showing she thinks about all sides of an issue, is this one’, Ser Raymas said, pointing at the Winter question. ‘But the answer showing the most cultural ladylike disposition is this one’, he sighed, pointing at the question he had made up.

‘Willas, who answered that one again? I don’t know the girl? Or do I. Mayhaps I’ve seen her before but her face was not familiar to me.’

‘Alayne Stone, daughter of Lord Baelish.’

‘Lor– That snake?!’

His cheeks reddened, and he looked around before continuing on a more silent tone.

‘Can we even do that? Let some bastard from a freezing distant mountain range win?’

‘We can if she is the best. Such are the rules’, answered Maester Lomys.

‘The best maiden must win, to choose another one would insult the gods. They deserve the best woman to honour them.’

Willas looked at all answers, but it was becoming blatantly obvious that his eyes always wandered to the Winter question written in pretty cursive. He could not decide, he was too interested and partial to make a rational choice, as much as his mind loathed to admit. He did not like having a preference, especially to a girl he knew so little about;

‘I would also agree that this girl is the most eloquent and insightful. She has paid attention to politics, economy, her smallfolk, her lord, her resources, her farmers. She has managed to propose three entire systems seeking maximal profit for the castle, and employment of all servants, and the best supplies of food. This one comes close in nuance and attention to detail, but it isn’t as realistic, executable or eloquent as the one of the Stone girl’, Maester Lomys agreed.

‘Lord Willas?’ asked the old maester.

Willas nodded slowly.

‘It is decided’, he agreed. ‘By majority.’

‘Are you sure? They will accuse you of choosing her for political reasons, probably’, Ser Raymas warned.

‘How would I be able to get a girl through so many rounds and make a servant who didn’t know the questions, attach a flower to a question she could answer she would pick? I wasn’t even present until this round. But just to prevent doubt, Maester Lomys could explain our reasons for choosing her answer.’

Maester Lomys nodded, and the three men went back to the main hall. By now the hall was filled with all candidates who had lost, and all interested servants, commoners and nobles who wanted to watch the proclamation of the winner of the Maiden Contest.

All seven maidens were lined up, all nervous and twitching as Willas and his two consultants went to stand in line.

Maester Lomys talked about the answers in general, and then what separated the winning answer from the runner-ups without mentioning names. He then nodded at Willas. 4

‘It is for this reason we have decided, unanimously, with me giving my opinion last, that the maiden who shall join me tomorrow will be…’

Willas looked back at the Merryweather girl and the girl from his cadet branch. Both choices would be supported and recognized. They would be good choices. He could still change his answer. A good lord would. The gods had no real power anyways, yet be it deeply supressed superstition coming up, or curiosity and desire, Willas did not change his mind.

He could be selfish for once. He had not made Alayne win. She had gotten herself through each round, as one of the best most times, and now the two men on his side had chosen her as well. It was not because he had wanted it to be her, that she had become the maiden. Therefor, he could in pure conscience say her name.

‘Lady Alayne Stone of the Vale.’

Gasps and applause and loud talk broke out, but Willas was separated from it, like cotton had been plugged into his ears.

He saw Alayne’s mouth open in surprise as she looked at him, before she looked around her and down. The blonde Hightower girl jumped around her neck with a smile, before the castellan called for silence again.

‘All physical works will be displayed in the hall tonight. Now, I want a round of applause for the maiden that has been able to channel the powers of The Maiden and has been able to convince these seven randomly selected judges and the final panel of three consultants. She is and will be the embodiment of the maiden, and join our Lord Willas during the celebrations tomorrow. May they bring their tasks to a good end!’

The applause was deafening.  
Willas plastered a smile to his face and walked over to Alayne, who was so good as to meet him halfway and offer her hand, already knowing he would be taking it. He lifted her hand and pressed his lips to it before raising their hands. To which the crowd cheered again.

‘Congratulations, fair maiden. You have done well today’, he announced loudly. And then, even louder, ‘as have you all. As far as I have seen, there was not a single bad participant. All of you are good and talented in your own right. Any man would be lucky to have you! I am grateful you all took the day off and wish you the best of celebrations tomorrow. May the next year bring summer and warmth to you all!’

The house words of House Tyrell were shouted, songs about summer were sung, and Willas, after talking to some lords and knights, excused himself and went to his rooms. He turned around a final time before he exited the halls, and found Alayne looking at him, lips moving silently.

He understood her. He too wished to speak to her. But what was there to say? What was appropriate and right to say? And what would people think of their interactions? They would look at them now. And analyse their relationship. If they got on too well, the rumours of a rigged contest would be fuelled. If they didn’t get on well, they would believe it would bode ill for the celebrations, or believe him to be mean and cold to someone who had fought hard to stand by his side.

They could talk tonight, about winter, for example.

He sighed as he turned away from the hall.

How much easier it was before this, back when she didn’t know his name and she was the only person he could talk to freely.

But he had not been born for that life.

He was born to be a lord, and freedom was not for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I changed chapter 5. I wrote that “the lord of Highgarden goes on a walk the day of the Solstice" but then I realized that was quite late and the Maiden Contest would take up the whole day. So I changed it to the day before.


	8. Solstice Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I changed chapter 5. I wrote that “the lord of Highgarden goes on a walk the day of the Solstice, but then I realized it was quite late and the Maiden Contest would take up the whole day. So I changed it to the day before.
> 
> To those who noticed the Easter Eggs; the songs were indeed all borrowed from films and series I love: Poldark, Far From The Maddening Crowd and Outlander. 
> 
> The book Willas was thinking about the previous chapter was ‘When Women Ruled: Ladies of the Aftermath’, a work written by Archmaester Abelon, concerned with the women who ruled in the aftermath of the Dance of the Dragons. Archmaester Gyldayn describes the work as a "mammoth” to Sam Tarly.

_**Returning to Alayne's pov** _

The aftermath of the contest followed Sansa in her dreams.

She was running, through a neverendingly large great hall, stared down by people as tall as houses. She could hear their whispers. Unnatural, strange, inconceivable.

How could this bastard from the Vale have won?

She told herself that septas sang all the time in septs, that they made their own clothes, that they had access to literature. And as a child from the Vale it was entirely logical she could know a lot about winter. But it didn’t matter. She worried.

She tried to hide behind pillars, but they all dissipated into smoke once she dove behind them. She ran and ran, and could see the back of Willas as he was leaving the room. He had been awfully distant to her after she won. But she was sure he would protect her and legitimize her. She was his maiden. But as she ran closer to him, a figure grew in the distance in robes of red and black. She reached Willas, clutching his arm.

He turned around, face stern and twisted with fear. Looking over his shoulder, her eyes found gold. Golden hair, golden crown, and purple wormy lips twisted in a cruel smile.

‘So my murderess has come to the den of traitorous Tyrells. You were stupid if you thought I wouldn’t find you, but you never were clever, were you? Starks are worthless with politics.’

Willas shielded her and pushed her back.

‘I shall kill you all. No one insults the king!’

‘My king, I didn’t do it!’ Sansa stuttered.

‘And you’re an awful liar. You always are, playing docile… But your eyes betray you with their defiant and hateful gaze. What do you call the useless mummers farce here? Beating all noble ladies at what they’ve been trained to do since infancy. What? You thought deliberately fucking up poetry and dancing would make you look inconspicuous? You can’t hide being highborn and raised like a lady. You just had to win, didn’t you?’

Sansa staggered backwards, until she fell down. She’d tripped over a ditch in the middle of the hall, filled with firewood. She scrambled backwards and it ignited.

‘No, my king, I swear.’

‘Oh yeah, then what’s that in your hair?’

She lifted her hand towards her hair, and found the hairnet laced with purple stones in her locks, which now gleamed red.

‘Ser Boros, if you’d be so kind.’

She could feel a hard cold hand on her shoulder. And in the next instant a blade against her back in a pain that felt as sharp as it felt familiar.

‘No!’

She looked up through the flames, seeing Willas on the other side, frightfully small compared to Joffrey who was as tall as a castle wall with purple veins on his cheeks.

He still dared to defend her. Noble and silly as it was, despite her lies. He would always protect the people on his grounds.

‘If you want her, Tyrell, you can just jump through the fire. I heard you’re familiar with jumping through fire.’

Sansa bit her lip to keep from crying out.

The flames licked until the height of his brow.

He wouldn’t make it.

The sword hit her so hard she toppled over.

She looked up again from where she was pressed against the floor. Her back bleeding and colouring the tiles red. Her face burning from the heat of the flames. He surged forward undaunted, as brave as Loras when he faced the Hound.

But his knee gave, and he fell forward. He was propelled towards the flames, who caught him in an eager embrace.

‘No!’

‘Silence! It is clear you still haven’t learned your lesson. Harsher punishment it is. Ser Gregor?’ Joffrey called forward. The ground shook once. Twice. Thrice. Then Sansa was hauled up by her hair, left dangling in front of Joffrey as the Mountain held her up.

‘Look. Look at it!’ Joffrey cried.

Sansa looked up. And there she saw them. All the Tyrells. Willas burning from his fall in the ditch, Loras with his skin burned off and covered in tar and arrows, Garlan with a sword through his belly, Margaery’s head with her eyes closed, Mace Tyrell’s head with an apple in his mouth like a pig alongside her father’s decomposing skull, her mother’s body with her eyes closed and neck gashed, and her brother’s corpse with Grey Wind’s head on top, all on spikes.

The Mountain let her fall and lifted his sword.

She was next.

But determination flowed through her bloodstream.

She rolled away as the sword cleaved into the ground.

She jumped through the fire with ease, facing a scowling King Joffrey.

‘You’re dead. You’re dead. You can’t harm me’, she cried.

‘How dare you!’

‘It was this net that killed you. And I’m glad for it. Your head fits right up there!’

Joffrey opened his mouth, maggots swarming out towards her. But Sansa yanked her hairnet from her head and threw it towards Joffrey’s mouth. And as it connected, Joffrey fell backwards, choking as he did on his wedding day.

The swarm of maggots turned into doves, flocking towards the ceiling.

‘My clever, clever girl’, a sweet voice drawled behind her.

‘How well you’ve done. The Vale, Winterfell, and now we can add Highgarden to our territories of influence too. I would make you my queen without a doubt. Just like your mother, utterly stunning, but even better. My sweet.’

Cold hands skimmed up and down her arms as the scent of mint filled her nostrils.

‘I just want a home’, Sansa cried.

But she could feel small cords dragging her backwards, back towards the Eyrie she knew.

‘Come, puppet.’

‘No!’ cried Sansa as she woke with a gasp. She crawled back against the headboard of her bed as the dream popped around her like a soap bubble.

It was day and she was in her room.

Amaryllis’ hands were lifted in defeat. She had been the one touching her, not Littlefinger.

‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry’, she stammered.

‘No, I apologize. I was deep asleep’, Alayne answered quickly, her heartbeat still deafeningly loud in her ears.

‘Yes, so I noticed, I’ve been shaking your hands for minutes. Are you alright?’

Alayne looked away.

‘A bad dream, is all.’

‘Not too tired from it, I hope?’

‘A little’, Alayne admitted.

‘Well, tonight’s going to be quite a late night I’m sorry to say. It would’ve been preferable had you been well rested, now you’ll have to wait until tomorrow morning to get some sleep. Oh well, come on. It’s time to get going’, Amaryllis announced as she jumped upright.

Alayne was dragged towards a bathing chamber with a big stone bath in the middle filled with hot water and milk. There were tall glass-in-lead windows tinting the room blue and green, and cupboards full of creams and liquids against the walls, just as there were fragrant plants. It felt a lot like the pool she had visited with Amaryllis.

She was stripped to her shift. Initially, the maids had tried disrobing her fully because the bath would be most beneficial naked, but Alayne managed to stop them.

 _They can’t see my scars,_ Alayne thought.

_There is no reason why Alayne Stone would have such scars and I am too tired to think of excuses._

Then she was dunked in the bath. Sitting on the bank going full circle around the inside of the bath, her hair was coated in a greasy lotion and covered with lemon juice by the maids.

‘To lighten and brighten’, the maids explained. Next, her face was covered in a mixture of clay and mint ‘to purify’.

‘But why the milk?’ Alayne asked of Amaryllis, who set on the ledge with her skirts drawn up and her feet resting on the bench.

‘It’s to make your skin soft like a peach. Apparently Lady Alerie and Queen Margaery swear by it.’

Alayne nodded, staring at the sprigs of lavender and flowers of jasmine and lotus floating past, no doubt they also had some skin properties, and of course, there were rose petals as well.

‘And now?’ Alayne asked.

‘Nothing, just soak it all up for half an hour’, Amaryllis smiled.

‘Oh.’

What was she supposed to do all that time sitting here?

‘You can come in too if you want’, Alayne said silently.

‘You sure? It’s a really special bath, usually only for the Lord’s family.’

‘Technically you are’, Alayne teased.

‘Not like that’, Amaryllis laughed.

‘But sure, I’ll never say no to such a bath. I’ve never had a fancy one like this before.’

Amaryllis beckoned a maid to help her out of her dress before she sank in with her shift still on.

‘You may go’, Amaryllis decided, making gestures to ensure the maids left them alone. She had understood Alayne’s dream left her shaken, and she liked her privacy.

‘Do you want to talk about it?’ Amaryllis asked as she offered Alayne a platter of breakfast filled with cookies with flowers pressed in the icing, multiple kinds of jam, and delicate bread filled with seeds.

Alayne took a bowl of pudding covered with fruit in her hands and took a couple of bites, before taking the delicate white tea with hints of raspberry and ginger that had been poured for her.

‘I dreamt of yesterday. Of the reaction of the people’, Alayne decided. It was safe enough to admit. It was even good to admit, she reasoned, as a bastard wouldn’t be used to receiving such attention.

‘I know. But to be honest you should just ignore it. You won, fair and square. They’re just shocked two bastards got into the final fourteen. Didn’t I tell you you had a good chance? Mind, I never expected you’d get that far. Didn’t expect to get to the penultimate round myself. We did really well’, Amaryllis smiled.

‘I still can’t believe it, even sitting here’, Alayne brought out, leaning back against the side of the bath and looking up towards the ceiling that was painted blue with stars.

‘I know, it’s like a dream. Like a song even’, Amaryllis smiled.

As a child, Old Nan had read her many stories about secret identities, brave maidens winning the hands of lords, and kings recognizing the virtue and talent of a woman. Sansa had always listened, wide-eyed and slack jawed. She had been so full of stories back then, and they had been full of wonder.

It seemed like a dream.

But even when she was literally living a fairytale, it did not feel so fantastic.

Life is not like the songs, even when you live through the plot of one.

‘Do you think in the songs, the ladies would have been treated with such suspicion?’

‘Bah, suspicion. Alayne, they don’t know you. It’s normal they ask questions. They don’t know who you are and you just defeated all their well bred lawful daughters. And they’re big chauvinists. They believe the Reach has a monopoly to excellent ladylike maidens. As if girls don’t get taught how to sing and dance and read and sew in other regions.’

‘I know’, Alayne mumbled, taking another sip of her tea and sliding deeper underneath the water.

‘Besides, many came to you to meet and congratulate you. Don’t focus on the jealous mothers and ladies, the majority believes that the best woman needs to win, and you were declared to be the best by a board of random judges and the heir apparent. Most approve of you. And today everyone will see just how fit you are for the task’, Amaryllis winked.

‘I hope so. I don’t want to let the people down, or Lord Willas.’

‘You won’t, I’m sure of it. You’re so insecure Alayne, really. Why? You’ve proven yourself yesterday.’

Alayne gave Amaryllis a light smile.

‘You were gone soon, now that I think of it. Where did you go?’

‘Lord Willas had some questions for me’, Alayne shrugged, playing it off as a small thing. 

She had retreated to her chambers at the earliest possibility, uneasy due to all looks she received. There she found a note to meet Lord Willas in private. She’d been relieved to do something useful, and had happily gone to him. Apparently Lord Willas was not in a mood to discuss the contest either, and had been business-like, immediately showing her a list of questions asked by his bannermen the previous day. She’d been delighted to spend her time in a useful manner while being successfully distracted. Afterwards, she’d been so tired she’d fallen asleep immediately. It had been like the both of them needed some normalcy between the madness of the festivities.

‘Again?’ Amaryllis questioned, giving Alayne a quizzical look.

Alayne looked down, biting her lip.

It _was_ rather strange, wasn’t it?

‘Alayne, is anyone else present during these discussions?’ Amaryllis questioned as she scooted closer.

Alayne smeared some jam on a piece of bread to give herself time to think.

‘N-no. I-I just assumed he wanted p-privacy. I-it is clear no one knows of our talks. Otherwise people would suspect we cheated the contest. Which we didn’t! I swear, I had no idea of his questions. And I didn’t know the servant tying the flowers to the questions. And I didn’t know what flower was attached to which question either! I swear. I was shocked when I had to read my question aloud.’

‘Alayne, what are you talking about?’

‘I got a question about preparing for winter as a lady of a noble house. Which I had experience with. And talked to him about. I lucked out.’

‘Alayne, we all know the contest is airtight. And all seven questions were designed to be answerable for well bred ladies. The questions were about managing a keep, politics and literature, things all ladies seeking to become lady wives should know about to some extent. You were just clever and well-educated on your topic. That’s not lucking out. I could’ve answered that question of Leona blindfolded and with my hands tied, I spent my entire youth listening to septas going on and on about it. And I could’ve given alright answers to most of the questions. It’s supposed to be fair. To be honest it is rather coincidental that you pulled that question, but no more so than the servant girl pulling the only history question that none who haven’t deeply studied history could have answered. Only the highest educated maiden could’ve answered that one, and it was pulled by the only lowborn girl. That wasn’t fair either.’

‘I guess’, Alayne admitted.

‘Don’t feel guilty about winning, Alayne.’

‘Mhm.’

‘But do be on guard around Lord Willas.’

‘What? Why would you say that?’ Alayne gasped.

Amaryllis looked dumbfounded, like she wanted to smack Alayne for her question.

Alayne cringed instinctively.

‘Come on. You ask that? For real?’

‘L-lord Willas is good and honourable and business-like.’

Amaryllis rolled her eyes.

‘Come on, bastard girls amongst each other, if I got a golden dragon… No, a silver one, for every time a lord was claimed to be too honourable and good to sire a bastard yet did it anyway I’d be so rich I would be able to buy my own house. And a pretty one at that!’

Alayne looked down again, but gave a gentle smile to show she agreed with Amaryllis.

‘There _must_ be some men who care enough about their wives to stay faithful.’

‘Sure there’ll be men who haven’t cheated on their wives. Those who are ugly and lack the possibility to cheat’, Amaryllis laughed.

‘But Lord Willas is a bachelor. Not ugly. And there are plenty of women who’d want to sleep with the next Lord Paramount.’

‘I- I wouldn’t!’ Alayne protested, the red burn of her cheeks covered by a hardening layer of mud.

‘No? Your child could be the next Lord Paramount. None of the Tyrell children of the reigning family have offspring yet. And with the war continuing on as it does, a recognized bastard would perhaps be better in their eyes than signing away their power to a cadet branch’, Amaryllis pointed out.

‘And if they stay alive, they can throw you aside. No problem for them. In the worst case scenario, Willas has offspring he can use in case something happens to his family before he can marry, in the best case he had a good fuck and you’re stuck with a bastard child. And you’re already a bastard, so his fucking around wouldn’t even injure a good lady’s reputation. Leave it to the Tyrells to bet on every possible outcome.’

The offhanded way in which Amaryllis shrugged it off deeply hurt Alayne. Because she was right. It made total sense for people to think that. Screwing a bastard was safe, they were already said to be without virtue or moral compass. They were already inferior.

 _If I ever see Jon again, I’ll never treat him like I did before. This is no way to think of a human being_ , Alayne swore.

‘I’ve had a sheltered upbringing’, Alayne breathed quietly in a way she believed conveyed that Alayne was too naïve to think about such things rather than Alayne not being used to be treated like a bastard.

‘I thank you for looking out for me, Amaryllis. I’ll be careful’, Alayne promised.

‘You don’t have to be’, Amaryllis answered.

Alayne looked up in surprise.

‘I don’t mind. I mean, if I had the chance to place myself in a high position of influence knowing it would majorly improve my life and power, hell, I’d do it without thinking. For us bastards, becoming mistresses is one of the few ways to work our way up the social ladder. I just want you to know what you are doing.’

‘I-‘ Alayne stuttered. She had planned endearing herself to Willas, but she wasn’t about to let Amaryllis know. It would be too cunning. And once people knew you were cunning, they would be suspicious of your moves. Even if Amaryllis confessed to thinking that way, Alayne wanted to hide those ambitions.

‘Yes yes, Littlefinger’s bastard and all, but still, you’re young and have only been out of your cage for a year. You still become absent at times, zoning out as if you’re not sure what you are doing or seeing. I don’t claim to be wise, but I’ve grown up here, and have been exposed to a lot of unfair treatment I believe you have only just started seeing the beginnings off. You were spoiled as a bastard, you know that? First growing up safely with septas were everyone was treated equally, receiving good schooling. Then arriving in the Eyrie and being treated as a recognized natural born daughter who got a lot of freedom and responsibilities.’

Alayne had been zoning out, because acting and thinking and talking like a bastard didn’t come naturally to her. And because while in Kings Landing, she had become used to reverting back inside her own head and locking out the outside world. She was shocked Amaryllis had noticed, and worried who else had. But it relieved her Amaryllis observed all these things, but interpreted them in a way that fit her backstory. It would make sense, if she had been sheltered and protected, she would now be insecure and traumatized after having been sent away from the Tourney at the Gates of Moon because people took offence to Lord Baelish flaunting his bastard daughter around.

‘You are at the bottom of the social ladder. You’ve grown up with bad confidence due to it, that’s clear, but you’re not aware how your position leaves you vulnerable. You’re still thinking about how you should react. You’re hesitant because the rug has just been pulled from under your feet. I can see it, Alayne. I was like that when I was first discriminated and ridiculed.’

Hearing Amaryllis had been insecure and heartbroken once shocked her, she always appeared to be so jovial and funloving, like nothing could harm her.

She has grown a thick shield too, Alayne mused.

Alayne realized the most logical thing to do was too scoot over and give Amaryllis a hug, and so she did. Pretending she sought comfort in the arms of her friend. Amaryllis stroked her back and whispered sweet words in her ear.

It felt so good to be held, to be comforted. It had been so long since people had really taken the time to do that. Margaery had sometimes said sweet words, and she had gotten along greatly with Myranda and Mya, but nothing felt as solid and real as Amaryllis’ support.

‘Thank you’, Alayne breathed. She wasn’t thanking her for the advice or understanding, but for her effort to comfort and support her. She hadn’t had something like it since Jeyne had been ripped from her.

Amaryllis patted her on the back before she withdrew, pouring the both of them more tea.

‘You may want to rinse that mask off now, before your own face starts cracking’, Amaryllis smiled.

Alayne did, and was so helped by Amaryllis, who decided lighter conversation was to be had. So she started a most amusing account of thing she’d heart the previous day. How all mothers were pouting and lashing out at their worthless daughters who had failed to impress the judges. Some had called her a miracle, others a reincarnation of the maiden with eyes as blue as cornflowers and a voice as sweet as honey.

‘And some even said: “well we always knew our lord had fallen on his head as well as his leg when he fell off his horse” can you believe it? Hah, jealous they are. They are presented with the proof of your beauty, dexterity and cleverness. They _know_ the most capable woman has to be chosen, yet they still believe our future lord chose you due to a head injury’, Amaryllis laughed.

It soothed the remnants of Alayne’s bad dream.

Amaryllis then went on to describe all activities in and around the castle that day as she and Alayne in turn washed each other’s hair. It helped Alayne form a better idea of the day she was about to have, and eased some of her anxiety.

After an hour, they left the bath and towelled themselves dry, Alayne taking great pains to keep her back directed at the walls at all times until she put on the dry smallclothes that had been laid out for her. They were a pale green embroidered with twirling golden vines and golden roses throughout.

They were even finer than the smallclothes she’d worn on the day of her wedding to Tyrion. More than fine enough to be seen. Alayne wondered if the servants expected her to go all the way with Lord Willas, like married lords of the Reach usually did with their wives.

She swallowed down those thoughts and waited until some servant women came to fetch her to prepare her for the daytime events.

She was put in mint green silk, with heavy flower embroidery covering her shoulders and breasts in a demure cut. From there, lines of summer flower embroidery thinned down towards her large skirts. The dress was all flowers on the bodice, but when one looked at it from the downside up, it appeared as if the skirts were the blossoming flower, and her bodice a multicoloured stem. The dress did not have the golden Tyrell roses or typical deep green shade. Instead she recognized all kinds of flowers like marigold, forget-me-nots, cornflowers, dandelions, sunflowers, rowan and other kinds of flowers associated with noble houses from the Reach. She also found bees, foxes, oak trees, apples, crane birds, towers and grapevines between the gorgeous embroidery.

The dress was a tribute to all houses that claimed to hail from the children of Garth Greenhand, and some more recent ones. All except House Gardener, Alayne assumed the Tyrells weren’t that eager to remind the people of the Reach of their former kings.

Seeing the shiny embroidery she wondered whether it was coincidental that Lord Mace’s father had married a Redwyne, he himself had married a Hightower, and his son had married a Fossoway. Lord Mace’s sister Mina had married a Fossoway of the other branch and his sister Janna a Redwyne. She remembered Alla Tyrell, one of Margaery’s ladies-in-waiting, had a mother who was a Beesbury.

Did the Tyrells intentionally always marry people from the oldest houses in the Reach? Was it one of their diplomatic tactics to keep the Reach together and on a friendly basis?

She idly wondered whether there were unmarried young maidens of those houses left. Would Willas marry them if he did not marry someone from a house outside of the Reach to forge an alliance?

‘Oh my lady, now that your hair has dried it looks simply lovely. The lemon did a good job making it a bit paler and lighter. It has such a gorgeous auburn shine now when it is in the sun. You know, it almost reminds me of the shade Lady Olenna’s hair had when she was younger’, the older maid said.

Alayne froze.

Lemon.

Had it lifted the dye? She’d had some roots, she knew, she still hadn’t been able to find a dye. Luckily, the transition wasn’t too stark, it was a dye that naturally became lighter over time, instead of staining her hair permanently until it grew out. But she feared her hair colour would give her away.

A maiden of about six-and-ten, Tully of looks, with vivid auburn hair and pale blue eyes, pale of skin and fair of face, and very tall. There weren’t that many who fit that bill. Red hair was not that common, especially not when combined with blue eyes.

Her only luck was that her time in the Reach without protecting her skin had made her quite freckled and tan, and her skinny figure had started filling out since she had been able to eat more once she left Kings Landing. She didn’t look like a scrawny almost-woman anymore.

‘The lady had red hair?’ Alayne asked with a smile.

‘Oh yes, as red as the wine from the Arbor. But it has faded to a fine light silvery grey the past two decades. Age caught up with it, although her hair was still brightly coloured until well into her sixth decade on this world. Her hair colour was as stubborn as she.’

‘She sounds like an impressive woman.’

‘Oh child, you have no idea’, laughed the old maid, and now the younger maids giggled as well. Alayne bit her lip to keep a too wide smile from appearing on her face. Her interactions with the Queen of Thorns had been brief, but she felt less guilty about quivering before her now, if all servants within Highgarden felt that way about her.

Alayne’s hair was let loose like a young child, with flowers pinned in place throughout her hair and a crown of flowers encircling her head.

Her eyes were covered with a soft green powder and her cheeks and lips were stained a pink shade. Flower-themed jewellery was put in her ears, around her neck and her wrists.

And once she was doused in perfume, a cape of flowers, not unlike the one Loras had worn at the Tourney of the Hand, was placed over her shoulders before she was shown her image in the mirror.

Alayne was simply flabbergasted. She did look like a magnificent ancient queen who ran through the forest with wildlife on her side. She could barely believe the ethereal figure, so delicate but so wealthy, powerful and healthy looking, was her.

But before she could grow too enamoured with her looks, she was forced to eat lunch. Then she was brought downstairs and the festivities began. She, Amaryllis and some other remaining maidens were brought towards the fields surrounding Highgarden. As she visited fields, maids pushed food into her hands so she could place them at the offering alters of all farmers. Yellow flowers near a potato field, sugared yellow daisy cookies in a field filled with tomatoes and pumpkins, orange cakes near an orchard of apple and pear trees. Each time her carriage was awaited by many peasants skipping and walking around. The children hid behind their mothers’ robes while they looked at her with eyes of awe, men’s mouths fell open and the women took in the ornate dress.

Alayne spoke to all of them with all the grace, kindness she herself wanted to be treated with by others. She gifted the little ones some of her treats. And she herself, when passing a cornfield and upon discovering it had been turned into a maze once all stalks of corn had been harvested, indulged herself by finding a way out together with Amaryllis. They laughed and giggled, carrying with them a bottle of grapefruit wine for when they got thirsty. And they were overall so jolly and good-humoured that their moods infected all they encountered on the corn paths.

Then they returned within the first wall of Highgarden where they danced with other maidens who were twirling around a large pole from which ribbons hung, then they played Reach music to show off The Maiden’s talent.

‘You’re very good at the high harp, I didn’t hear you play it too often before’, Amaryllis noted sometime later as they walked through the great street heading back towards the gates of the highest circle.

‘There were so many other things to do’, Alayne smiled.

It reminded Alayne of Sweetrobin, who was always calmed by the harp, and loved the high harp above all others. She had avoided it because of him, but being here around so many cheerful faces and playing along minstrels and housewives alike she hadn’t thought of him at all. A large crowd gathered around them and cheered them on, and later complimented Alayne on her play. She could burst with excitement, no one was gossiping or giving her side eyes. Instead, everyone seemed to be happy to meet her and glad that she was so talented.

 _I wish I could be their lady,_ she thought as she walked down the drawbridge to the castle. There was a moat around every circle of walls.

She could spot young women bent over patches of flowers everywhere.

Alayne walked past a maiden of about her own age.

‘M’lady, ye look like a true incarnation of Maris the Maid’, the young woman nodded.

Alayne curtsied back.

‘Have ye come to pluck flowers too?’ the maiden asked.

‘So I might dream of my future husband tonight?’ Alayne teased.

‘Ye laugh, but I swear tis true, m’lady. Just t’last year my sistah found ‘er husband, swore ‘ee looked like the man she’d dreamt off.’

‘Yes sure, I didn’t thought’, Amaryllis shrugged.

‘Well, were ye silent?’ the maiden questioned.

Amaryllis blanched.

‘Silent?’

‘Ye must pluck ‘em in utter silence. Not a word, until they’re under yer pillow. Some devotion to yer future ‘usband.’

Alayne gave Amaryllis a look. Her friend was many things, but silent wasn’t one of them.

‘Thank you for your kind advice, I’ll heed it. Thank you, may the seven bless you. I wish you and your beloved a mild and short winter, and I hope you will find your husband soon’, Alayne said.

The maiden smiled widely.

‘Thank ye, fair maiden. Though now I’ll have to start again’, she lauhed as she threw her previous flowers to the ground.

Alayne laughed as she continued on with Amaryllis.

‘I’ll ignore you for now, if that’s alright. Otherwise we shall definitely talk.’

‘Ey!’

‘Hush, I’ll assume whatever you want to say during the duration of the flower gathering was something amusing.’

‘I’ll assume whatever you want to say will be either thoughtful or snarky’, Amaryllis threw back, before metaphorically locking her mouth and throwing away the key.

Alayne laughed and started gathering flowers.

Would she see who Alayne was supposed to end up with, or Sansa Stark? She pushed the silly thoughts from her head. Alayne didn’t exist. At the end of day, the person whose head hit the pillow in her bed, was Sansa Stark. She plucked seven different kinds of flowers, and created a pretty bouquet that wouldn’t be too thick to sleep on, and placed in under her pillow.

She skipped outside to find Amaryllis waiting. Dusk had set in. Soon the evening activities would begin, but there were something she really wanted to see before she was put in her evening dress.

‘Hey, Alayne, where are you going?’

‘The banquet hall.’

‘Why?’

‘Reasons. Also, do you know where they keep paint around here?’

‘Uhm, yes. Why?’

‘I’ll explain along the way. I’ve thought about something the past week in regards to the dance. And I need your help. Will you? Help me?’

‘Of course’, Amaryllis answered as she slid her hand through Alayne’s.

‘Tell me what you need.’

‘Alright. So first we need big baskets for flower petals…’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I split the solstice celebrations because the evening part is very long but I needed to cover Sansa's perspective on winning and the day itself as well. So the next chapter will be long and I promise it'll be nice. Or at least I think so.
> 
> The coats-of-arms of the houses described are of house Oakheart, Fossoway, Hightower, Crane, Beesbury, Rowan and Florent and Redwyne. Those are all houses hailing from the children of Garth Greenhand save for one, which doesn’t have an item on their coat-of-ams.
> 
> Decided to add another slip of Sansa's for the eagle eyed readers. Sansa was taught how to play the high harp by Leonette, it would make sense for her to teach Sansa to play songs from the Reach, and Sansa would probably only play the songs she’d been taught. We haven’t read about her being taught to play songs by anyone else, so she probably knows either very common songs, or songs from the Reach through Leonette.
> 
> Also I haven't been responding to all your amazing comments, though I've read each and every one of them. But I'll start answering here and there :) Your comments made me smile so much! Lately I haven't been in the right headspace to answer comments, but writing has always been therapeutic to me. Let's say I used my sadness for my art because oh yes, this fic is going dark places some time after the solstice. Life isn't like the songs, not even in Highgarden.  
> (okay, I'll stop being edgy, yes things are going to get rough but real life is already depressing enough, I feel like I'm not spoiling my story by ensuring you all it'll have a happy ending)


	9. Solstice night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Over 15 000 words, behold the behemoth!
> 
> Nevertheless I hope you enjoy.  
> Excuse the typos, those are for another day, I'm bad at tracking those down and I was too excited to wait with sharing.
> 
> Moodboard for chapter 8 & 9:  
> https://growingstronglikeahighgardenrose.tumblr.com/post/625063175399800832/its-solstice-time-in-highgarden

“Both the Winter and the Summer Solstices are expressions of love. They show us the opposition of light and dark, expansion and contraction, that characterize our experiences in the Earth school so that we can recognize our options as we move through our lives.”

~Gary Zukav

All was prepared and all people were gathered. Alayne could hear their boisterous laughs and the sound of music floating in through her window. Twilight had now really coloured the night sky lovely pinks and purples. From where she was sat by the window as the maids did her hair, she could see hundreds of red bonfires being lit through all layers of Highgarden and on the outside of the walls as well.

The Hound would hate this, she thought with a smile.

But winter is coming, and fire protects and warms.h Wherever he was, he would have to embrace fire.

_Tonight, as people officially say goodbye to summer and autumn, the girl whose house words are ‘Winter is coming’ leads them through their celebrations._

It was ironic to say the least.

She glanced at her reflection in the mirror and saw a mature maiden she barely recognized. Alayne’s hair was done up in the same style Margaery had sported for her wedding. A circlet of bronze with gems the colour of autumn leaves was placed on her head together with a crown of autumn flowers. Her eyes were made dark and her lips stained berry.

‘My lady, your dress.’

The cape was taken off of her shoulders, the flowers already wilting. But it was not thrown away, rather it was hung out of her window to add to the decoration of the castle. Her green dress, that had been made to fit Lady Alerie as it had been a bit loose and short on Alayne, was taken off.

Her next set of robes though, fit her perfectly. It was a tight fitting brocade dress of white and dark gold in flower patterns. The skirt allowed her enough movement so she could make the jump, the maid explained, without there being too much of it so she’d catch fire. In the past they had experimented with many fabrics to find the most beautiful and fireproof ones they could. Some ladies had gotten their legs dangerously burned.

To handle the heat she was given knee high sturdy leather boots, of which the foot part was delicately embroidered so they would look like dainty shoes. She would get real dancing slippers once she was safely back inside, they told her.

Then she was left alone.

She looked outside of her window again. From there, she could perfectly see the large bonfire that had been stacked in front of the main entrance to the castle and the ditch she'd have to jump.

She had counted the exact amount of steps from the ditch to the banquet hall. Three hundred and one-and-twenty steps. Would Lord Willas be able to make that once he jumped? The trench didn’t look too deep or wide, but perhaps to someone with a bad leg it was too much. If it were Bran, it would have been futile. He would not even have been able to take a single step.

Alayne thought of the dance she had prepared should Willas not be able to stand. It frightened her in earnest. She had not practised a dance with Lord Willas. And when she asked him about it the previous night, he’d merely shrugged and replied it was to become a very simple dance with minimal movement.

‘Just some twirling you around and a couple of steps back and forth for me. No one expects me to sweep you across the room, throw you in the air, or do an ornate dance with a lot of skipping about.’

They would dance alone, she knew. But there were barely any dances where the couple heavily supported each other. She could not help Willas if his leg gave way.

But she had the wheelchair, his cane, her baskets of flower petals and her pots of paint.

In the limited time she’d had, she had thought of solutions. She only hoped they would work.

She was disturbed from her thoughts by a knock on the door.

‘Enter’, she said, thinking it was a maid.

‘Lady Alayne’, a low voice greeted.

She turned around in shock and stepped back with a cry when she saw the tall looming figure in her doorway.

Dark brown wild hair was topped with a crown of vines and flowers, and right in the middle of the figure’s head stood two antlers.

Garth the Green come alive!

She could just stop herself from taking another step back when a green stained hand reached for her. She noticed the other rested on a cane.

‘It’s me, Lord Willas.’

‘O-of course, my lord. You startled me. I apologize for not recognizing you’, she answered as she dipped to curtesy to the figure clad entirely in green.

As her gaze was aimed at the floor she did not see the gaze roving over her very exposed chest and upward pressed bosom.

‘I did not inform you of the ceremonial robes I was supposed to wear. I suppose I do look a fright to someone who isn’t used to the sight.’

‘Oh no’, she was quick to say. She didn’t wish to insult him.

His mouth twisted in a smirk as he leaned his weight on the cane, saving his leg as long as he could.

‘What are you trying to reach with lying here?’

Alayne looked down in shame.

‘I did not wish to offend.’

‘Well, you don’t’, he decided. ‘Can I come in?’

‘Oh, of course my lord, sit down’, she said as she quickly retrieved a chair for him. He sat gratefully.

‘Alright now, first of all I want to say you look lovely.’

‘Oh, I thank you, my lord.’

‘Secondly I want you to know I am glad that you are the one going through all this craziness with me. I realized this morning we had not spent sufficient time preparing you. These are our celebrations and they are not known outside of the Reach. You’ve been dragged in without prior knowledge or someone informing you of all your duties, the words that need to be said, and so on. I myself was also too preoccupied with the problems this day bring to me. I have neglected you. So I thought we might sit down some ten minutes as I walk you through everything.’

‘I… Thank you my lord.’

‘It should have already been done, don’t thank me. Today you have outdone yourself by natural grace. You have done all things associated to maiden activities and lady activities such as visiting the shrines, the fields, visiting the village, singing, dancing, playing music and you have done all with grace and dignity. I have heard people talk of you, some children truly believe a mythical figure has visited them. You have inspired smiles and faith everywhere you went. I thank you for taking such care of your duties. Today I had to visit farmers on the other side of town, and then spent my days with professions that had to be validated for their help in winter and autumn such as carpenters, smiths, and so on. And then I had to visit a melee and all residing knights to show my involvement in the protection of Highgarden. Now that we’ve both shown our capabilities as warrior and maiden, and father and mother alone we will start our shared activities.’

Alayne nodded, glad she had done well today.

‘We shall go downstairs and there I shall honour you by saying I gifted you the mare I symbolically named Spring. She was born today and I thought it would be a good sign if I gifted her to you and named a young life after the season of rebirth.’

‘Really?’

‘Really.’

‘I- You are giving me a horse?’

‘I am.’

‘My lord, I cannot accept. I- I am not from here. The filly is so young, I don’t even know if when I leave it will be strong enough to survive the trip with me.’

‘Those practicalities matter not today, do they?’

‘No… But.’

‘No buts.’

Alayne nodded, biting her lip to keep from protesting.

‘Her manes are as brown as your… hair’, he said, slowing down as he took in her dark brown hair in the candle light. It almost appeared lighter today.

‘Then I shall start a speech about the wonderful long summer we’ve had, how proud I am of my people, my wish for a short winter and so on. Then the septon will start talking about how we will bless the Reach by jumping through the fire towards the warmth of summer and leaving the dark winter behind by carrying a torch of fire into the castle as all other fathers follow suit.’

‘Am I expected to speak?’

‘Yes. That’s what I was getting towards. After we’ve jumped through the fire, I will tell the men to chase away winter and darkness and carry light into their home. You will be given a bouquet of flowers and will instruct the women to carry beauty, virtue and love into their homes. Then we lead by example.’

Alayne nodded.

‘Is there a specific formulation I need to use?’

‘Dearly gathered, I thank you all for celebrating with us. It is an honour to me to lead these celebrations. Now that we have jumped through the fire, we will welcome warmth and goodness into our homes. Women, follow my suit and collect your flowers. Bring beauty, virtue and love into your homes. Make your home a true home. May your homes always be filled with beauty, virtue and love. Tonight we will dine and celebrate together, as one big family’, Willas said, as if he was repeating something he had heard a thousand times over.

Alayne tried repeating the words, and got it wrong. Again and again. Only managing on the ninth try.

‘The next time you need to speak is in the sept when you need to lead a song and a prayer, but I assume you know all of those.’

Alayne nodded.

‘Then you’re good.’

Alayne nodded.

‘Alright, might we just go over the words one more time?’

Willas nodded and repeated them with her two times more before they descended. They were carried towards the bonfire in a carried coach shaped like a giant apple, another tribute to one of the oldest houses in the Reach.

They were welcomed amidst cheering crowds and loud clapping and whistling. Flutes, pipes, drums and harps were playing loudly in the back alongside some other instruments. She could almost feel her heartbeat beating together with the drums.

They exited their carriage, hands held together. Once outside, Lord Willas lifted their hands towards the sky and the cheering rose to another level. The carriage was quietly carried away as she and Willas crossed a small bridge that had been laid across the ditch for them. His cane was left on the other side as the bridge was taken away.

Could he not put his cane on the other end of the ditch and throw his legs over it while leaning on the cane? Alayne wondered.

She could also see his wheelchair covered in vines and flowers somewhere nearby. He was prepared for his leg failing, but only once he made it across the ditch.

Thoughts of her nightmare came back to her, but she banished them quickly. It would not come to that.

But why did he set himself up for a potential stumble? Was it just stubborn pride and the fear of appearing weak to his people? Was there a rule against using an aid while making the jump? She understood he did not want to curse the Reach by failing, but she could not help but worry.

The castellan instructed some of the men tending to the fire to remove the plate standing between the blazing bonfire and the trench filled with oil soaked wood.

In seconds the entire ditch was set ablaze.

Red flames reflected on her white dress and cast Willas’ face in an orange glow.

The images of the dream stuck to her skin like sweat.

The flames were knee height due to the amount of oil used.

Could she even get across without pulling her legs up to her bosom? She could not even remember the last time she’d jumped.

What if she did catch flame despite the sturdy fabric and Willas fell? They would forever be the cursed couple who doomed the Reach for winter. Willas already feared it was going to be a bad winter. No matter whether it was logical that a long summer would be followed by a long winter, the people would blame them.

They could not fail.

She looked up at Willas to find comfort, but the look she found there offered none.

Worse. He looked possessed by madness and fear.

He looked at the ditch the way the Hound looked at the burning Blackwater. But he could not run.

He had to stay.

One time, in a green flame filled world, she had abandoned the side of the warrior who offered to protect her despite his fears and the lack of certainty their future offered them.

She could see Willas’ chest shaking as he breathed in.

‘Good people of the Reach and inhabitants of Higharden, I welcome you!’ he cried, his voice strong and unwavering as he looked up to his people across the flames.

He was the warrior and she his maiden. Whatever her name was and whatever would happen tonight or this year, she would stand by him.

She took a step towards him and took his hand.

His fingers slid between her own, a tense smile tugging at his lips as he kept his gaze focussed at the crowd. They would present a united front, let it not be said they stood like strangers when they were supposed to replace a couple.

‘Like my lord father and my ancestors before him, I stand before you now to lead you through these celebrations. I stand here before my time as he is away, together, no doubt, with many of your own beloved. But let us honour them by keeping up tradition. If joy leaves us, winter has truly come.’

He remained silent a couple seconds longer, creating a solemn pause.

‘But it is not yet winter! Autumn may have come, but not everything is dying. Have we not still fresh crops every day? And is not new life born every day? The Reach is a place of life and plenty. Just this morning, I welcomed a beautiful young mare, and named her Spring. And it is my wish that when she is at her strongest, so will Spring be in our lands. I have decided to gift her to the beautiful talented maiden standing beside me. As she is truly a worthy partner to stand beside me during these celebrations, as she has proven yesterday and today. My people, I present to you Lady Alayne, your blessed and chosen Maiden and Mother for today!’

The crowd cheered again as Alayne stood beside Willas, smiling as best as she could.

Then Willas did the speech he had told her about, and it sounded strong and motivational and positive, if a bit long. But as soon as he stopped talking and the septon started, he deflated, shoulders slumping as he nervously eyed the burning flames that had now lost some of their intensity, now burning at shin-height.

‘I hoped they would lower even more’, he admitted.

Alayne eyed him. He had deliberately talked a long time until the flames had decreased.

‘We will be fine’, she comforted him.

‘We better be’, he grimaced.

‘We better jump separately. That way if I fall, I don’t drag you down into the fire with me.’

‘How about you jump first and I push you so you get across?’ she suggested.

‘And risk falling flat on my face due to the momentum? Still bodes ill’, he answered sullenly.

‘Why not use your cane to help you jump across?’

‘That’s like giving up beforehand. And I doubt it counts as jumping.’

‘My lord, you told me they did not expect you to do a lot of dancing during our dance, why would they expect a large jump then?’

‘One does not symbolize our future, the other does.’

‘I shall jump first. And if you threaten to fall or stumble, I will pull you through, and be there to lean on’, she told him.

He looked at her with his dark eyes, and her skin flushed underneath his gaze.

‘Thank you.’

She was pulled from the moment by the sudden stop of the drums.

She looked away, and found all the people had grown silent.

The other musicians had stopped playing too. 

‘And so they shall lead us through the dark towards a new spring where the seeds will grow stronger and better than the season before!’

‘May we grow stronger!’ the people cried.

A single drum picked up again, and another joined in at the seventh beat, until soon all Alayne could hear was the sound of deafening drums, raging towards a goal she did not know.

Her heartbeat picked up again as she looked back at Willas.

He gave her a strained nod.

She had to go.

Alone.

She’d been beaten. She’d lost her family. She’d been threatened with rape. She’d been accused of murder. She had been through hotter fires than this. She could do it.

She picked up her skirts, hand sweaty and shaking, but her legs were strong as she took three steps back.

She couldn’t stop. She needed momentum. She needed speed. There could be no hesitation. No being a weak and cowering damsel, that was not here role today. Today, she would be strong.

She gave herself seven seconds to gather her breath and pull tight all muscles in her legs and abdomen until they burned with unreleased tension.

And then she bolted, flying towards the ditch and pushing herself off of the earth with all the strength she had in her right leg, before she drew up that leg too to make the jump.

The ground disappeared underneath her feet and for a split second her belly fluttered with nerves as her figure rose above the flames. Not a full second had passed before her feet collided with the dirt. Her shoes instantly sank away in the dark brown soil. She stumbled as the dirt crumbled around her feet while her heels remained stuck, but she elegantly fanned out her arms and took another step forward, before closing her arms gracefully and turning towards the fire again. Her jump had been good, and she had landed a good distance away from the ditch.

Willas threw her a smile that conveyed his happiness at her success as much as his fear for himself.

Willas, like her, took steps back, sinking through his knees as well as he could to gather speed and energy.

Her heart plummeted and sped simultaneously as she wrung her hands together.

Please.

Please.

She prayed to the old gods and the new.

Let him not fall.

If he fell this time, she feared he would not get up again.

And then he started.

She would not let him burn like in her dream.

She floated closer to the ditch.

His bad leg did not give as he quickly took his second and third step.

But then, instead of jumping, he took a fourth, and his speed was cut off as he sacked through his knee right as his upper body surged forward towards the ditch.

He would make it through, but he’d fall as soon as he was across.

Without thinking her hands shot out towards his upper arms and she pulled, leaning back with all her weight as Willas came through, his good leg finding purchase on the ground as he stumbled against her.

_Don’t fall back in the dirt._

_Don’t fall._ She prayed as she stumbled backwards because of the momentum.

His hands clutched around her shoulders, and using her as a crutch, he could take another step on his bad leg to slow them down, before planting down his good leg to stop their stumble.

Steadied, she took a deep breath to calm her raging heart. He was all around her, breathing just as heavily.

They’d made it.

‘She could not even be parted from him for the time it took him to jump. So eager was she to welcome him in her arms! As a true wife welcoming her lord husband home!’ cried the septon who quickly put a charming spin on the stumble.

She hesitantly looked up towards him, and found him looking at her with such intensity it left her breathless.

She dropped her gaze, but it remained glued to the lowest part of his face.

Like a wife welcoming her lord husband, if only.

One of his hands connected with the side of her head.

It was shaking, she realized.

As was she. Goosebumps covered her entire skin.

Her eyes flitted towards his lips again.

And then suddenly disappeared as he came closer.

Was he going to kiss her like a husband would a wife?

She stiffened, eyes fluttering shut.

But no kiss came.

She could feel short hairs coated in delicious cedar and citrus oil scratching against her cheek.

‘Thank you. Let’s give them a show of a doting couple then’, he said as his other arm encircled her waist.

‘Let’s’, she agreed breathlessly.

Was that disappointment she felt?

‘Do you need your chair?’ she asked as they stood in embrace while the music turned cheery again.

She could feel him shifting his weight from one leg to another, so close were they pressed against each other.

He grunted painfully.

‘Afraid so. Bugger, the dance.’

‘Maybe you recover.’

‘In a matter of minutes? I doubt it.’

‘Enough to just stand and twirl me?’ she wondered.

‘If I’m lucky’, he answered bitterly.

With a final sigh, he disentangled himself from her. A servant ran towards him with his cane and a torch. Willas took his cane and the torch. Without stepping closer towards the fire, he extended his arm so the torch caught flame.

He struggled forward until where the ground was hardened. Alayne followed him closely, and was handed the bouquet of flowers.

It did not look very dignified, but he did not fall nor did he look like a trembling old man.

Maester Lomys had seen it all, and had quickly guessed that Willas would not have been able to take over three hundred passes. He came forward with the wheelchair.

Once on solid ground Willas straightened his shoulders, lifting the torch high as he repeated the ancient words. At his sign, Alayne repeated hers.

‘Dearly gathered, I thank you all for celebrating with us. It is an honour to us to lead these celebrations. Now that I, we, we have jumped through the fire, we will welcome harmth… warmth and goodness into our homes. Women, follow my suit and collect your flowers. Bring virtue and love and beauty into your homes. Make your home a true home. May your homes always be filled with love, beauty and virtue. Tonight we will dine and celebrate together, as one big family.’

She cringed internally at her mistakes every single time, and it only made her more hesitant to say the next phrases, but she steeled her shoulders and kept going. She could not stop.

Willas sat down into his wheelchair, and to keep the embarrassment from growing by him having to steer himself while still holding the torch, or having a maester roll him inside like an invalid, she went to stand behind the wheelchair, and clutched her bouquet of flowers together with one of the handlebars.

He looked up at her in surprise.

‘If I am to play the mother, I am supposed to nurture and take care of you, am I not?’

A sad smile twitched around his legs.

‘You are. And I am supposed to protect you.’

‘I don’t need protection right now’, she smiled as she pushed forward.

They disappeared in the mass of movement as all women started plucking flowers and all men started lighting branches and torches to carry towards the castle.

The sound of music grew muted as servants helped carry Willas’ wheelchair inside, the great thick walls swallowing all sound.

The halls were silent and empty for the first time since Alayne could remember. The only sound was the echo of the creaking wooden wheels and her heels.

Alayne was anxious to break it, but what could she say?

‘I’ll have to do this every year until my dying day’, Willas stated unhappily.

‘You’ve done it once now, my lord, mayhap you get better with practice.’

‘I’ll only grow older and less athletic.’

‘You are the oldest child, but young still. You can still become fitter while in your youth.’

‘I’m afraid my desk and I are attached at the hip, I doubt I’ll see less of my office as I grow older.’

‘There are plenty of lords who don’t lock themselves up in their rooms the way you do’, Alayne stated plainly.

‘But are they good lords?’ he hit back.

_My father had been a very good lord, and he was up and walking almost all hours of day, he only went to his office at night, and on the day of the week he devoted himself entirely to his paperwork. He’d been a marvellous lord, and still the Stark name inspired deep loyalty in their bannermen._

‘They can be, there are more ways to be useful to your region than sat behind a desk all day.’

‘Achievable ways for me? I can’t visit a lot of my bannermen, or do a lot of walking and riding in general.’

Yes, her father had walked a lot, talking to servants and lords alike, visiting villages and castles every few moon turns.

‘Well, you can serve your people by doing the solstice ritual, so it would be to your benefit if there was a way to somehow… perhaps not your bad leg… but get fitter in general.’

‘Unfortunately a good point’, he sighed as Alayne rolled him into the banquet hall.

‘Could you roll me towards the great fireplace at the end of the hall?’ he asked.

Alayne agreed and quickly pushed him hence.

Sitting in his chair, he was at the perfect height to light the fire in the hearth.

‘There we are’, she smiled as the servants now walked in to start placing the first course and the wine on the tables. ‘That’s already two parts of tonight’s rituals completed.’

‘I really must thank you. I wouldn’t have been able to do it without you.’

‘It is my pleasure to serve you, my lord’, she smiled.

He looked up but her smile was completely earnest. She was enjoying the festivities and she was happy to be by his side. The thought of not helping him felt almost wrong after the bond they had built. She couldn’t even bear the thought of having to watch him do all these things with another woman tonight.

‘I am glad for it.’

‘If you excuse me, I need to put these flowers somewhere.’

They both looked at the sad crumpled bouquet with cracked stems from where she’d held the bouquet against the wheelchair.

A beat.

Conveniently she noticed an empty vase on top of the large marble mantlepiece that was carved with the coat-of-arms of the Tyrells. Conveniently deliberate, probably.

She was a tall woman, but it still took her some effort and precarious balancing on her toes in front of the blazing fire to get the flowers in the vase.

Guests came swarming in, having brought back fire and flowers to their chambers or houses.

‘My lady’, said the older maid who had helped her in all her dresses today. She carried a low stool, a pair of dainty soft looking slippers and Willas’ cane.

‘Ah yes. Thank you so much… Lavender, wasn’t it?’ Alayne asked.

‘Yes, my lady’, the old woman nodded.

Alayne sat down and pulled off her boots herself so the elderly woman didn’t have to bend. In the meantime she gave Willas his cane, for which he thanked her.

She was given her slippers by the old woman as she handed back her boots.

The lovely flowers in the embroidery were partially burned and partially covered in mud. Only now did she notice the grey haze that covered parts of her skirts. It was faint, but as she lifted her skirts to examine them closer, it was definitely present.

Smoke damage.

She looked further, and found a tiny bit of blackened dress right at the bottom.

Her heart dropped. The fire had touched her. Had she worn the wrong kind of dress, could she have been burned? She was very lucky indeed the maids had spent a lot of time finding a dress of the perfect size befitting of the occasion and of the right fabric.

Out of the corner of her eye she examined Willas’ legs. His boots were a shiny black, somewhat covered in mud, but given the heavy handed Garth Greenhand references in his looks she suspected the people wouldn’t mind his muddied boots. His emerald velvet breeches still shone in the light of the fireplace and were free of blemish. Of course his clothes were better suited to the occasion, even though she had effortlessly skipped through the fire while he had almost fallen straight into it.

She slipped her stockinged feet into the dainty slippers with their soft and supple leather soles that were perfect for dancing and thanked the old woman.

She turned back towards Willas and sank down through her knees so they could more easily.

‘Do you think you can dance now, my lord?’ she asked quietly.

‘I’ll see’, he said, giving up the pretence of being a whole man as he stood hesitantly, leaning heavily on his cane for support. She could see him shifting his foot to test the strength of the leg, and observed his face closely. It was scrunched with pain.

It weren’t smile lines that were hewn out in the skin around his eyes, Alayne realized, they were from pain and from frowning in concentration. That look was far more common on his face than a smile.

‘I’ll be able to stand with or without cane to twirl you around, but I’m afraid stepping is beyond me. I apologize, my lady. You’ve saved my reputation only for me to ruin the night now.’

‘We will be fine, my lord, I assure you.’

‘You are good at comforting a nervous man, alas, I fear the hour of truth has come, and the truth is that I am a mockery of a future Lord Paramount.’

He really was low of spirit today. Never before did his leg seem to trouble him, every other inconvenience it posed was gracefully accepted without complaint but tonight it seemed he was as unhappy with his fate as her past husband who did nothing but curse his deformities and mock himself.

Alayne spotted Amaryllis, she was talking to a tall youth with dark brown hair and tanned skin. Was this the Garther she had previously talked about? Or just a somebody from around here? Alayne wondered how she could call for her help discreetly.

It appeared the flower petals and paint were needed.

They were right where they’d left them, in a corner near the musicians.

‘My lord, I am almost insulted you don’t believe me when I tell you something. I don’t make empty claims.’

‘It is not that I do not wish to believe you, I very much do. But my grandmother has instilled upon me that words are wind. People can say anything, only seeing is enough cause to believe something.’

A wise woman, she was. Alayne had told him many lies already. Unfortunately for him, there was nothing to see – yet – which would expose her deceit.

‘Standing shall be enough, my lord. And perhaps if you are up to it the occasional spin. But do sit down until then, save your strength until you need it’, she smiled sweetly.

‘Ah yes, standing still as a tree I can do, I already half look like one’, he noted dryly.

Alayne smiled before walking off towards the baskets of flowers and pots of paint herself.

Her friend joined her soon after, as it was impossible for her not to notice the slim figure clad in white walking towards the corner. Her dress was in stark contrast with the walls that had been painted to resemble the night sky.

‘I’m sorry. I was distracted. I should have come to ask you first.’

‘It’s fine, really’, Alayne comforted her friend.

‘Who was that man?’

‘Garther’, Amaryllis explained with an unhabitual shy smile.

‘Oh’, Alayne brought out with a rather meaningful hum.

Amaryllis bumped her shoulder against Alayne’s.

‘He’s Lord Caswell’s brother’s second son. Lord Caswell only has two daughters, so his brother will inherit Bitterbridge, but Garther is one of the young knights still loitering around here in case any fools decides to attack Highgarden. But anyways, should I be able to enamour him, I’ll have done way better than I could’ve dreamt. We’ll be fine whatever happens. And hey, with this neverending war he might just end up Lord of Bitterbridge’, Amaryllis giggled.

‘You would wish his brother dead? Does he know that?’ Alayne japed, although she knew lords had talked about her in the same way before she was married to Tyrion Lannister.

‘I just said I don’t care what happens, you devil! Don’t put words in my mouth’, Amaryllis cried as they walked towards Lord Willas.

The girl quickly lost some of her bravado and curtsied in front of him before quickly excusing herself.

‘What is all this?’ Willas asked, looking into the baskets and pots with great curiosity.

‘I had thought – and apologize me if I was overstepping boundaries with this – that in case you couldn’t dance, perhaps I could dance around you in an elaborate fashion. I heard it has been done before, a woman dancing around a man.’

‘Yes’, Willas admitted hesitantly, ‘though mostly in a quite inappropriate context’, he explained.

Alayne paled and cursed Myranda for talking about it if it was that improper.

‘Oh I- I didn’t know’, she explained as her cheeks turned pink.

She bit her lip and took a deep breath.

‘Nevertheless, it does not mean the plan could not continue. I believe it might work, given the context, without appearing ehm… lewd?’ Alayne said, her voice more questioning than stating.

Willas nodded encouragingly.

‘I planned on dancing around you, be it with wheelchair or not, and make a spectacle out of my dance, so that people could think our act was deliberate… And I hope they would look on with wonder so much they would not pay attention to how little you were doing.’

‘You had my interest, now you have my full attention. But could you explain it quickly, for I fear we have some five or more minutes before we need to start.’

‘I plan on putting golden paint on my shoes, having you stand in the middle, and paint the golden rose around you. And every time I finished a petal, I hoped to come to you so you could twirl me around. And if you could stand, which you do, you could use your cane to paint the inner circles around yourself, and then the dots on the outside of those circles. And afterwards, if you felt particularly strong. We could circle around inside the flower petals to recreate the inner layer of petals. Then at the end I’d sprinkle green flowers around the rose, and yellow flowers on my way to the main table to distract from you having to wheel towards it.’

She shut her mouth and looked at Willas hesitantly.

‘Seven bloody buggering hells, can I make you the Maiden forever? This is the second time you’ve saved my life today.’

They both froze when they realized what that implicated.

Alayne coughed and looked down.

‘My lord is too kind.’

‘I wish I could be kinder still.’

Alayne looked up in shock.

Was he flirting?

‘And more useful’, he admitted with a sour smile as he walked towards the middle of the dancefloor, supported by his cane. Alayne rolled his wheelchair, with on it all the paint and the baskets, close enough.

Willas had thought about the issue but only from his own perspective, he’d made sure he had canes and wheelchairs and had resigned himself to having to twirl Alayne around from his wheelchair once he’d survived falling face first in the mud and flames outside. But Alayne had thought about the matter from her perspective, finding solutions to the problems he had failed to solve. She had thought about what she could do about the problem his leg posed. He hadn’t considered enlisting the help of others to get through the ritual. He was used to not counting on others to make his life easier.

Alayne put the first jar of paint on the floor right at Willas’ feet, and she and him carefully placed the other jars and baskets nearby enough and the wheelchair far away enough.

It was only when Willas called for attention that the hall quiet down and the loitering talkers ran towards their seats. Only then did she feel more eyes on her than just the curious sharp-eyed onlookers as they had set up their stage.

He began another tale about the history of the Solstice, thanked his staff category by category for their work leading up to the festivities, before he announced the dance would start. He stepped back and discreetly kicked the bucket, causing the golden liquid to pool around his boots.

Alayne stepped closer to him, drawing up her skirts as she pressed herself against him and took his good hand, so she was ready to spin the second the music started.

It started with a slow flute, a lute soon joining in. She looked up slowly towards Willas, feeling her heart soar before he smiled and pulled her hand.

She turned away from his body on the tips of her toes, making pirouette after pirouette as she lifted her arms elegantly above her once Willas’ arm was stretched to the max and she had to let loose.

She tried to mimic the way Lady Merryweather had danced in Kings Landing, to channel her provocative twists that had the whole room entranced.

She subtly looked down, checking whether her plan had worked as she’d had no time to test it. An almost perfect line of golden paint was drawn from the pool of paint to where she now stood.

It would work.

She looked towards Willas, a smile on his face as he put out his arm and hit his cane down on the beat, a golden dot appearing underneath. He had already drawn the inner circle.

She could hear the crowd whispering, and threw a shy glance to the side only to notice that many had stood up, and some even left their seats, to see what they were doing.

They didn’t know.

Alayne fanned out her arms and skipped with the foot movements of another dance until the petal was large enough. Then she did another turn on the outside end of the petal, before throwing her arms up in the air again and twirling towards Willas, who welcomed her with strong solid arms.

She made sure her feet were once again covered in paint before they resumed their starting position. Willas experimented with the boundaries of his capabilities by softly rocking her from side to side before twisting her outward again. This time as their hands let loose, he lifted his arms as well, before planting his cane down a couple of times to create the circle of tiny circles that were meant to be the stamens.

They repeated this pattern, Willas growing more bold as his confidence in his leg and familiarity with the dance passes grew, attempting more flourishes so he would not appear “as a tree”. After finishing the inner circles and the large circle of smaller circles, he starting connecting some lines to showcase the stamens better.

By the fourth leaf she was already used to connecting with his chest and being rocked, but to her surprise, he had gotten a new idea and now dipped her down so low she had to lift one of her legs to stabilize herself.

He’d dipped her alongside his good leg so he needn’t lean on his bad one.

It knocked the breath right out of her, sending her heart skipping as she looked up at him and laughed.

The crowd apparently loved the epic dance move as well, and cheered and laughed and whistled loudly to encourage them. By now they had all caught on, and thought it a marvellous change from the same old dance routine Lord Mace and Lady Alerie had presented each year. The fact that it was done by their future lord and his very mysterious new maiden made it all the more intriguing to them.

Breathless, Alayne was spun towards the outside a final time before she once again safely landed in the arms of Willas.

Alayne took a step to the side to draw the final line. Willas did not follow.

She quickly understood he was not well enough to dance through the final part of the coat-of-arms, but had found a way to complete it together with her. Willas held her hand with his good one, and lifted their hands every time she slid her feet across the floor towards the next petal, twisting his body a bit to follow her along from petal to petal. In a way, all dancing were meant to show off the ladies, and the men were merely there to show off the lady’s skill, and Willas was doing exactly that while still being part of the dance.

Once it was finished, Alayne pirouetted outside of the circle towards the basket of green petals and leaves. She turned and turned and turned, almost slipping once due to her wet slippery soles, but luckily her feet caught onto a couple of dry leaves that kept her from falling. As she twirled and twirled, spreading flowers around, the people started clapping.

There stood their future lord, right in the middle of the ballroom, in the middle of his coat-of-arms, the beating heart of the Tyrell family as his family was away. All had had doubts whether he would have been able to pull off all that he had to do tonight, but he had not yet made a mistake, and had managed to work around his disability with elegance, although they knew not that was rather to someone else’s credit.

The music stopped and Alayne and Willas curtsied towards one another.

As the musicians started an even more joyful song, Alayne started skipping about, throwing around yellow flower petals.

She felt awful, skipping past all those lords and ladies as she drew all attention to herself without feeling justified to do so.

They were all looking at her as she skipped and twirled past with dirty slippers and splashes of gold on the bottom of her skirts. She felt like a fool. But by the time she reached the table, Willas had arrived there safely, and so tender was the smile he gave her, all of her shame had been worth it.

Now they were officially in their roles as the Mother and the Father. It did something to Alayne’s belly, the intimacy of it all, and the meaning of it, even if it was only for a day.

_Although he did want to make me his maiden forever._

He was not watching his words, it can’t be, she quickly told herself.

They started the first course, eating cheeses and fruit with sweet golden and spicy full red wines.

Then followed soups in the colour of the autumn leaves, and big roasts and pink fish. It was a lovely feast, overflowing with plenty.

It was incredibly decadent knowing the population of the Riverlands and the Crownlands were starving, and after this thought Alayne sent up a quick prayer that those smallfolk would soon be released from the pains of war. They would not have a lot this autumn and winter, but she hoped they would not all die unhappy, wounded and starved.

Then came the dessert courses to celebrate the sun and summer. Many were made with yellow and orange flowers and fruits. Lemoncakes, lemon curds, cold rose tea, plum cake, jam tarts, big gateaux and delicious puddings. The sight of a saffron pudding made her laugh. Willas inquired after the reason of her amusement, but she could not possibly explain to him Harold Hardyng’s Saffron. Or could she?

‘A young knight I know, my lord. He arrived sometime before the tourney. Like many men, he had a lowborn lover despite being unmarried. Well, actually, it was already his second, but what knight keeps count, right?’ she asked ironically.

Willas cringed but could muster a slight smile.

‘Anyways so he had impregnated the young daughter of a spice merchant and claimed he really loved her and believed her to be the most beautiful girl he knew.’

Willas nodded, curious to see what was to follow.

‘But he’d been mean to me all day, and frankly I was feeling somewhat slighted that he had to talk of another woman’s beauty to me. He apparently had no shortage of positive words for her, and none for me or the mother of his first child. So the name of his current flame was Saffron and I asked him: “What will you name the babe? Cinnamon if she’s a girl? Cloves if he’s a boy?”’

Willas laughed, his eyes crinkling with amusement.

‘Serves him right, I suppose. I have a distaste for men without virtue’, he admitted.

‘Most deem it normal for a man to seek pleasure somewhere until he is married. And after as well.’

‘Yes, and what protection does that offer the women or the children?’

‘Why none, but that is how things are. The shame is on the bastard and the mother, never the father.’

‘Shame shouldn’t even have to be present. Though responsibility should’, he admitted sourly.

‘My lord?’

He shook his head with an annoyed smile, staring at his plate.

‘It is nothing, my lady. Just some wild Dornish thoughts in my head.’

Alayne’s curiosity was piqued though.

‘Given the importance of the topic to me, my lord, could I encourage you to explain yourself?’ Alayne asked softly.

He looked up, as if he had for a second forgotten Alayne was part of the group they were discussing.

‘My castle is filled with bastard who will never have the means to purchase a house or start a family, holy places and the wall are overflowing with them. So many ruined lives, men prefer to ruin other women than their wives. To visit prostitutes is one thing, those women know what they are visited for and are under no pretence, and they get fed moon tea so they do not have to take care of unwanted children. To live like Robert Baratheon for example, is unforgivably irresponsible. If not out of sympathy for those born from such couplings, then because it leads to inheritance disputes and pretenders and animosities between houses’, he admitted as he looked out over his banquet hall.

‘I believe that unless we stop condemning people for being born outside of the marital bed, we must condemn those that sleep outside the marriage bed as well. Dorne is better that way. There bastards are not treated unfairly. Fathers and mothers look after all their children.’

‘An admirable point of view’, she admitted, looking down. ‘Here taking care of your bastard child is seen as a great kindness, since we are seen as living reminders of shameful acts.’

Even her father had slipped up, but he had taken care of Jon and raised him alongside his own. And the Tyrells were also kind to the bastards born in their families, but there were more Mya Stones than Jon Snows.

‘I do not blame you for your parentage, after all, you had no say in being born.’

Alayne looked up in wonder. He was so much more tolerant and progressive than she was, even after having lived through the life of a bastard.

_My mother was unfair to Jon, she barely tolerated his sight, and I followed her blindly even though he was kind to me._

‘My lord is very liberal.’

A smile tugged at the left corner of his lips as he played with an orange custard.

‘Yes well, I doubt these six kingdoms will ever change. Instead I’ll have to look on in frustration knowing it doesn’t have to be that way. Spending months of my formative years in Dorne, and continuing a friendship with Oberyn Martell ruined me. Before I never paid attention to people like you, now I cannot unsee the injustice’, he admitted as he poked his spoon into the treat.

‘Prince Oberyn has a bastard as paramour, does he not?’ Alayne asked quietly.

She could still remember the woman. The rumours surrounding them had been wild, almost everyone had been outraged at Oberyn bringing along who Olenna Tyrell called “The Viper’s whore” and then there were the talks of them regularly inviting others to their bed. It was all confusing to Sansa, who had yet to learn anything about what happened between man and wife, let alone understand what could happen between two people of the same gender.

‘Why yes, she was around even way back when I was there’, Lord Willas said confusedly.

‘Ellaria Sand. He has many daughters with her as well. Bastard daughters of a bastard woman would be seen as the lowest of low. Oberyn doesn’t give a fig about it. He brings her along wherever he goes as if she were his wife, and he treats his daughters as if they were legally his. He dotes on them. And his other daughters, he has claimed and recognized all of them. And he would kill anyone who insults them. Prince Doran has three children, Oberyn knew there was no urgent need to marry, so he stayed with the woman he loved, and their children.’

The topic was clearly dear to him, as his smile was soft as he took an orange in hand from a fruit platter.

‘Do you know what she once said to me?’

‘Of course not, my lord’, Alayne smiled.

‘When I asked what made the difference to them, why they treated them differently in Dorne despite that they share the same Faith as us, she answered me that bastards are born of passion, and that is not despised in Dorne. Dorne’s a principality of hotheads who value passion and love, bastards symbolize that, so of course they embrace them. It’s a matter of culture. Here we see them, as you said, as living reminders of weakness, showing the deceitful nature and bad morals of those who sired them. That’s why we believe them to be deceitful and lustful as well, the sins of the parents are carried over onto the children.’

The conversation quite went over Alayne’s head, who was barely starting to study and find flaws in her own culture, let alone compare multiple cultures.

‘Then I understand why you think we should not make them, since it indeed seems unlikely we will ever change our opinion about them.’

It seemed like the perfect ending to their conversation, but Alayne couldn’t stop herself.

‘Unfortunately though, even the best of men sometimes can’t help themselves.’

‘Is your father the best of men?’ Willas teased.

‘No, but others are’, she answered carefully, not daring to name her real father.

‘If they can’t help themselves they should keep to married women or prostitutes and provide moontea. But just out of interest, for argument’s sake, did you ever get lonely in the past?’

‘Of course, my lord.’

‘Did you ever feel such a burning need to be with someone sexually you couldn’t help yourself?’

‘My lord! I was raised to be a septa.’

‘So was Tyene’s mother.’

‘Who?’

‘One of Oberyn’s children. And you quit, her mother did not.’

‘I haven’t given men a lot of thought, my lord’, she stuttered her mind flashing back to Joffrey, the Hound and the man in front of her right now.

‘B-but when I did long for company, I never longed for company in that way. When I am lonely, I read or do needlework. I keep busy in other ways.’

‘Then why should I? I have many ways to keep myself busy as well.’

‘Because m-men are…’

‘Right, if women are the weaker sex, why should men be too weak to withstand lonely nights while women aren’t? Why, you have two professions for women to be celibate, namely being a septa or a silent sister. We have four: septons; maesters; kingsguard and the Night’s Watch.’

Alayne bit her lip.

‘As you said yourself, my lord, people betray those vows’, Alayne smiled.

To that, Willas laughed heartily.

‘I guess you are right there.’

That did appear to be the close of their conversation on bastardry and they quickly found other things to converse about. They were sat alone in the middle of their table during the festivities, the closest people sitting about a foot removed, so they had each other to themselves.

The other guests looked at the couple with great interest, for they seemed to get on greatly. It sent tongues wagging. Did they just happen to get along well, or was there more to their friendliness? Did they know each other before the contest? What were they talking about? Would the future Lord Paramount go all the way today and take her to bed as well? Was it juicy?

‘Can you hear what they are saying? Is it intimate conversation?’ Garth The Gross inquired of Lady Fossoway of Cider Hall.

‘No, they just discussed their day and the dogs from the kennel. And now they are discussing astrology.’

‘I was once in the kennel, part of my duty to check in on all buildings every now and then, and I notice quite a beautiful hunting dog. And behold, he popped up out of nowhere to tell me all about their origins, habits and reproduction. He is awfully boring, always either occupied with his beasts or his books. More fit to become a maester than a lord, I say.’

‘Poor bastard, she must be bored to death’, the lady sighed oblivious to the sparkle in Alayne’s eyes as she listened to Willas with interest.

‘You know, I always preferred Garlan’, the lord seneschal admitted with a whisper.

‘Gallant, good in battle, good planning battles, good at diplomacy, a whole man and a great deal more fun too. And not such a dreadful longwinded know-it-all.’

‘A lord is never harmed by knowing a lot though’, the lady answered. ‘But indeed he must not bore us with it. That speech he just gave could have been so much shorter. Garlan would definitely keep it short and simple, or my niece Leonette would convince him to do it so. Perhaps I am biased because for him at least, girls of the Reach seemed to be enough.’

‘Younger children are for internal politics, Lord Paramounts need to look to the outside as well’, Garth disagreed.

‘That doesn’t explain how most past lords were content with brides from the Reach. They’re already using poor Margaery as a bride for every new king that pops up. Why, I bet if a Targaryen crawled from underneath the rocks they’d marry her to him too!’

‘Don’t be ridiculous, there are no more Targaryens’, he laughed.

‘I’d say the current political climate is more volatile than it was the previous decades’, he added.

‘It has truly been a disastrous year’, the lady admitted.

The relative peace of the banquet was broken when a voice suddenly cried out for the lord of celebrations to kiss the lady of the celebrations to bless them all.

The couple froze, but other voices soon joined in.

‘I need to give the people what they want, you don’t. It’s not part of your job description’, Willas comforted her.

A part of her feared kissing him, and a part violently wished to do so, but the latter thought was ruined now that it was demanded of her.

‘But you cannot give them what they want unless I cooperate.’

‘They can’t ask it of you, and they can’t think badly of you if you don’t.’

Alayne swallowed the hurt. Did he not want to kiss her?

‘I wouldn’t want them to hate me for not participating as much as I should.’

‘They have no idea how much you’ve already ensured they are blessed by helping me.’

‘Come on!’

‘Now!’

‘Kiss the damn girl!’

‘That’s too much talk and too little kissing!’

‘Is your mouth crippled too?’

‘If you don’t kiss her I will!’

Alayne and Willas cringed at the cries.

‘My lord, I fear your people are drunk.’

‘Pretty certain of it’, he smirked as he took a sip of lavender liquor.

‘Do you want to kiss me?’ Alayne asked shyly, reversing the question. ‘Or do you fear it will reflect poorly on you?’

Willas’ face twisted when she asked the second question.

‘If you don’t object, I would not be unwanting’, he replied.

Alayne did not say another word, her heart so full and her stomach such a whirlwind of nerves she did not even remember how to speak. But whatever Willas read on her face apparently settled the question for him, and he bent forward.

_I’m going to be kissed_ , she thought as her eyes fluttered shut.

She could feel him coming closer.

His one hand felt heavy on her shoulder and his other burned the skin of her cheek.

Their breaths mingled, warming each other’s face, the scent of lavender liquor heavy on both their breaths as they shared the sensation that they were about to do something monumental they could not undo. They melted closer together with every breath.

It was an intimacy they had both desired in the past few weeks despite their better judgement, but the reality was so much more thrilling. The prospect so overwhelming in their minds they forgot they were sat in the middle of a filled banquet hall.

Her mind was still young in many ways, and her knowledge limited, so she did not fully understand the feelings in her body. But she did know that she had thought about kissing him, and marrying him. But that could be excused, once upon a time it had almost happened. But her confused thoughts concerning him were no more tangled than the mess of hopes, dreams, feelings and desires that composed his fondness for her.

Willas Tyrell liked to be a rational and intelligent man who could reign in the reckless blood that ran through his veins. But in truth his blood ran as passionate and as angry as that of his brothers and the Tyrell lords come before him. He wanted everything desire and love afforded other couples. Passionate nights, filled beds, constant company, deep trust, quiet evenings in front of the fireplace and peaceful afternoons spent in the library.

He’d always tried telling himself that as a future lord, he’d never have much free time, or the guarantee he would be married to a wife he liked.

He knew he knew too little about this girl. But everything he learned about her only drew him in more, and after all the ways she’d showed her cleverness and good heart tonight, he knew a part of his heart was already lost.

He couldn’t marry her, but tonight he could get a tiny piece of her. That would be enough.

The second his lips touched hers, a fire ignited in Sansa’s chest.

_This is how kissing is supposed to feel._

Her hands sought out his tousled hair and she hooked her fingers into it.

_Sweetrobin’s kisses were the kisses of a child._

_Littlefinger’s kisses were forced and made me sick. This is nothing like that. This is a real kiss between lovers._

Willas released some of the pressure, relaxing his lips against her. She could feel the fire rise and quell and rise again. This time spreading from her chest towards the rest of her body.

 _Sandor didn’t kiss me_.

The realization was so jarring she gasped for breath, but quickly her opened mouth was used. Willas answered by turning the kiss into an open mouthed one.

She could never recall a sensation like this one before. All she had were the cold awkward kisses she received in the Vale, and a flimsy idea of what Sandor’s kiss had been like. But it felt less real with the second, like the fantasy was pulled away from her mind bit by bit, revealing the true memory.

_I closed my eyes expecting a kiss, but he became angry. The kiss didn’t come._

_My knight didn’t save me, and didn’t kiss me like the knights of song when they rescued their maidens._

_It was just a story I told myself._

_My life wasn’t a song._

Sansa was amazed by the soft texture of Willas’ lips, and the way his beard felt against her chin. It was a novel feeling, and lit a second fire within her, but l:ower, where it glowed like smouldering sintels.

This was the life she was supposed to have. The man she was supposed to have.

It felt like an eternity and a second when he pulled away from her. She was out of breath, but thirsty for more.

Alayne opened her eyes, and found his expression made her want to dive right back in. Had he just gotten even more handsome?

She was drowning in his eyes, the blue was almost completely covered by his large black pupils.

But then his head snapped to the side, and Alayne almost fell forward, like she’d been tethered to him.

‘Who said that!’ Willas demanded.

Alayne crawled back into the depth of her chair.

Who said what? What had been said?

‘I said WHO!’ he roared, pushing himself into a standing position.

Conversation quieted down, people awkwardly averting their gazes or searching the long lines of tables.

Alayne looked through the room in confusion, until a man rose from one table, and stalked over to another to pull him up.

‘This one, I heard, my lord’, cried Ser Crane.

‘You would insult the chosen maiden on the day of the solstice celebrations?’ questioned Willas.

It did not matter he wore antlers and flowers in his hair, he was as intimidating as Lord Tywin right now, his face cold and hard.

‘I- My lord – ‘ the man tried.

‘You wish to insult the one chosen by an entire panel of judges and me? She sits here beside me with the same worth as all Solstice Maidens come before. You insult the legacy of the Reach, ser. And frankly, it is in poor taste to talk bad of the lady who is in charge of thanking the gods and the people of the Reach for the plenty of the past summer, and in charge of leading our people to other seasons of plenty. Do you wish misfortune upon the Reach, ser? Have you no care for the tradition and sanctity of our rituals?’

‘I- no my lord. I mean yes. I mean. I did not intend harm!’ cried the man, desperately trying to backpedal. Alayne could not recognize a noble house symbol on him.

‘Yet you did. Demand forgiveness. Now.’

The knight simpered and fell to the ground, asking Alayne and Willas forgiveness for his misbehaviour and fowl words.

Alayne sat startled, not knowing what he was asking forgiveness for.

‘Good. Now leave. You are not welcome anymore today. Escort him outside, Ser Crane.’

And dragged out he was.

Then Willas smiled at his people and begged them to start dancing and continue on their celebration.

‘I do not understand, what did he say?’ Alayne asked.

Willas’ mouth twisted.

‘You didn’t hear?’

‘No’, she admitted as her cheeks burned. She’d been too distracted to hear.

‘Nothing good’, he growled as he grabbed a carafe of raspberry wine.

‘Please, my lord Willas. I would like to know. It concerned me.’

He took a gulp of wine.

‘Many demanded we should continue, repeat our kiss. But he cried I should go further “she’s a bastard anyway, she’s used to more than that.” He said’, Willas responded.

Alayne flooded with shame.

‘There, now you are unhappy’, he smiled mirthlessly as he took another sip.

‘My lord… I… I swear I didn’t… I am not a loose woman.’

Though she had. A boy and a man, but she hadn’t wanted either. She had merely undergone them.

‘The way your cheeks redden at the thought tells me as much’, he smiled softly.

Alayne looked down at her plate, allowing herself some rest until her heartbeat quieted again.

‘So my lord has protected me, and my honour’, she spoke softly.

Willas looked at her.

‘As becomes of the warrior. And you wielded judgement like the Father. Consider your duties fulfilled my lord’, Alayne decided.

He smiled softly at her.

While before she had always felt a certain something when looking at him, her body now felt like it was under attack every time she so much as caught a glimpse of him. As if his very existence was too much for her nervous system.

She looked away and towards the musicians, who had started performing love songs together with a lovely petite songstress.

 _“Whence hath all the good men gone,  
And where the pagan gods?  
Where_ _the Durran Durrandon_ _,_ _fighting_ _against the g_ _ods?_ _  
__Is there not a white knight upon a fiery steed?  
In the night I thrash and I spurn and I dream of that I need  
I need a hero  
I holdest out for a hero 'til the end of the night  
I require him quick, I require him swift  
When he comes riding home from the fight  
I need a hero  
I holdest out for a hero 'til the morning light  
And he must be assured  
if he's to be my lord man  
And he must tower taller than life  
Taller than life”_

It had to be past twelve at night when the music stopped and all guests left the banquet hall, lead in their procession by Alayne and Willas towards the sept.

The septon started the service, preaching the holy texts, talking about summer and autumn, warning of the hardships of winter and expressing perseverance and piety were important.

Songs were sung, and all songs related to the Mother, the Maiden, the Father, and the Warrior were set in by either Willas or Alayne.

It had been a long time since Alayne had sung hymns.

Her faith in the seven had been wobbly at best the past year.

She kept her voice steady through the songs, though she almost had to weep at the Mother's Hymn.

‘Gentle Mother, font of mercy,’ she started. But where had that mercy been for her? For her family? For the people of the North, the Riverlands, the Crownlands?

‘Save our sons from war, we pray.’ She hadn’t saved Robb, Bran or Rickon. Gods, they had just been children.

She was unable to sing low, or her words would strand on the lump in her throat. So she sang high, even though she feared it sounded frail.

But it was that frailty, that barely held back emotion, that evoked tears in the eyes of the others present as they thought back of their fathers, brothers and sons who had died or were still off fighting.

Then she prayed for mercy for everyone during winter, and managed to add so many professions and living situations for the gods to have pity on, that all present felt seen by the young maiden.

The service ended after the Song of the Seven after which all ran out to forget the grief of their present circumstances. Tonight was a night to be merry, perhaps their final one, and they were determined to not let any negative thought disturb their mind.

Willas and Sansa descended to the city to show their face among the commoners.

Flowers hung from all doorways and vases full of them stood in all opened windows, letting in the autumn breeze despite the chill.

Young children still raced through the streets despite the late hour, and men and women danced and laughed in every open space. Willas and Sansa sat down on a fountain that despite being used to water the horses, was as stunning as everything else in Highgarden.

‘This day goes on forever’, Alayne noticed. ‘And everyone seems intent on witnessing every minute of it.’

‘The Reach has largely been spared, but no part of the realm has remained untouched. Every day brings more bad news, more death, more grief. They want to absorb every second of a day that isn’t seeped in sadness’, Willas answered.

‘People are not so afraid of the war and winter yet’, Alayne answered, her gaze turning upwards towards the sky, finding a constellation Willas had once pointed out to her.

‘They are lucky, but I fear their luck is on its last leg.’

‘I’ve been up and about all day, yet I don’t feel tired. Sometimes I go to bed glad that the day is over. I don’t feel like going to bed right now’, Alayne said.

‘Me too, usually I stay up late despite wanting to go to bed because there is so much to do. And once I am in bed all the negativity and worries of the day don’t let me go, despite me wanting sleep. I think this is the first day in a while I don’t want to go to bed.’

‘But today as well, you feel like you have no choice but to stay up’, Alayne teased.

‘No, until the sun rises again’, Willas laughed tiredly.

‘And the nights are already so long. If this was a summer year, the sun would start rising at four. Today though, it’ll probably be six.’

‘I’m not feeling like going to bed, but the idea of staying up that long does make me anxious. Will I even be able to stay up that long?’

‘Those last two hours you probably won’t even know whether you’re alive or sleeping anymore. I can still remember the last solstice before winter. I was so young but my father forced me to remain awake as the future lord to witness it all. By the time the sun rose I felt like three days had passed. I could have sworn my bones had grown ten times as heavy, so hard was it to get upstairs afterwards. Well, here we are at another solstice before winter and I think getting up the staircase will be just as hard as it was back then.’

Alayne laughed, casting her eyes down.

‘Luckily it doesn’t feel late yet, I hope it won’t start feeling late anytime soon.’

‘The second it starts feeling late is soon followed by the second you start growing sleepy’, Willas declared. ‘And from there on it’s a long agonizing countdown until sunrise.’

‘Is there anything that might keep me from feeling that it’s late?’ Alayne asked.

‘Surely. Staying busy. Not thinking about time. Enjoying yourself. Time flies then. Time seems to flow like a river, sometimes it is a big fast-paced river. But on nights as these’, he said as he wistfully looked up towards the sky, ‘it is like a gently cabling stream that trickles by slowly and gently. But not the way the time ticks by slowly when you are being bored by septons and septas.’

Alayne laughed, well knowing how short the days had felt on the way to Kings Landing as she had been excited, or how long and precious the moments with Margaery felt when she wasn’t being tortured in Kings Landing. But then there were days that seemed so full with grief, first for her father and then for her brother that time seemed to rush past while she remained stuck in the past.

‘I thought you were studious, my lord.’

‘Even a studious child has topics they don’t love.’

‘And what were those? Your interests seem so varied?’

‘Mind I was not always a very patient child and a fast learner, so I always got annoyed when the pace of my class got slow. Since I dreamt of being a knight. So warfare sat well with me, as did writing and reading. But languages I had no patience for, nor economics, castlebuilding, art, and so on. That all came once I was injured. I spent months abed. And sometimes I managed to convince my servants to put the bed outside so I could gaze at the stars. That's how astronomy came to be one of my interests. With my brothers running about, the only ones sitting with me for a long time were the maesters, the dogs and my female family members. I learned patience you could say. Due to the maesters taking daily care of me I learned bits and pieces of herblore and healing. Though I never really cared for it. I found it useless. And economy still isn't a favourite topic of mine, but I know it has its use.’

‘I’m not very good with numbers either’, Alayne admitted.

‘I’m not bad with numbers. You need calculus for war, for registers of people and food amongst others. It just bores me. My sister Margaery though, she was as great at languages as she was awful with numbers. Loras as well. Those two’, he smiled with fondness.

‘I – I would have loved to meet her.‘

Alayne bit her tongue, she had just managed to prevent herself from saying “I know.”

‘I’m sure she would like you. She’d adopt you into her ladies-in-waiting group in a heartbeat.’

‘She would?’ Alayne played.

‘Yes… but then she does adopt rather anyone she likes. The more people she has around her, the safer she feels. And the more gossip she gets fed.’

‘I’m afraid she would be disappointed in me then’, Alayne laughed.

‘Well she could use a couple of ladies with brains. So many of my very young and frivolous cousins surround her it’s a wonder she is still as smart as she is. I’m sure the only one not feeding her nonsense is my grandmother, and now she doesn’t have her anymore.’

They did speak of naught but frivolities, Alayne mused, Willas was not wrong.

She looked away from the fountain towards the large market place that had been cleared to become one big dance floor.

‘You should dance, my lady, that’ll keep you awake without a doubt.’

‘And leave you alone?’ Alayne gasped.

‘I’m never really alone’, he answered as he motioned to their side. It was only then that she noticed two armed guards.

‘They only leave me when I want to.’

‘Oh, but still. Are you certain. I’m happy here.’

‘Just make sure you stay awake. Dance.’

  
And so Alayne did dance. The dances were a lot more wild and less civilized than she was used to, but she could feel the men she allowed to lead her were trying to dance like noblemen. Many knights and young lordlings had come down as well to celebrate where they felt they could get handsy with the baseborn girls, but they treated Alayne with a lot of dignity and respect. Partially for her wonderful performance today, and partially out of fear for Willas’ wrath.

But in the end she did tire, though her heart was pumping and she felt very awake.

‘I could use a rest’, she admitted then.

‘Have you ever seen a shadow theatre, my lady?’

‘A puppet theatre?’

‘A shadow one. They don’t use puppets but their bodies behind big pieces of canvas to portray a story.’

‘No I haven’t.’

‘Then come along. Or rather, please push me along. My arms are getting tired.’

‘First time a man asks a woman to push him around, I don’t doubt’, Alayne teased.

She felt particularly emboldened due to the amount of liquor she had consumed and the elated atmosphere, otherwise she wouldn’t have dreamt of mocking his injury.

‘Watch that tongue of yours.’

‘Or?’

‘I still have a cane I can use.’

‘You man a dagger?’ Alayne smiled.

‘It’s both’, he agreed with a smile as she wheeled him right into a theatre. They took with them cups of green tea to stay awake. And true to his word, a large piece of white canvas had been put in front of the stage. She could see flames burning behind it, and people walking past. She saw only their shadows.

The theatre was mostly empty, as most people were outside dancing.

Willas dismissed his guards and sank down in a couple of chairs with Sansa. Pulling out his stags. It was so dark in the room, no one could see that the theatre was currently being visited by the future High Lord himself.

The music soon started, and then the play was announced.

‘What is it?’ Alayne questioned.

‘The story of the first solstice, followed by the story of the long night.’

Alayne followed the story with interest. They showed everything with their bodies. Trees, the children, Garth the Green. Only things like arrows and flowers seemed to be done with attributes. It was marvellous.

Alayne quietly talked to Willas every once in a while. But the room was warm, the conversation pleasant, the music so sweet, she quickly found herself growing more and more tired.

Blinking became an effort. And the show seemed to slow down.

‘Oh no’, she sighed as she straightened her back again.

‘What is it?’ he asked.

‘I’m afraid both of the seconds you described have come for me.’

‘Oh dear, and the night is still so long’, Willas laughed.

‘Are you talking about the one on stage, or this one?’ Alayne questioned as she supressed a yawn.

‘I fear both nights will feel quite long for you Alayne, if you’re struggling to stay awake.’

‘So dancing and green tea I’ve tried. Is there another tip to stay awake?’

Willas smiled at how drowsy her voice was becoming.

‘If the tea doesn’t work, you are quite lost.’

‘Pity’, she mused, before slowly closing her eyes again.

Now she had to open them again.

Suddenly she felt a sharp jab in her side, and her eyes sprang open again.

‘I apologize. That was one of the few options remaining’, Willas said insincerely.

‘That wasn’t good for my heart.’

‘That is kind of the point’, Willas said matter-of-factly.

Alayne bit her lip as she looked at him.

‘It wasn’t nice’, she decided as her body once again overheated.

‘It wasn’t’, he agreed.

‘A good lord is supposed to be nice.’

‘Then I shall strive to be nicer in the future.’

And just like last time, something must have magically happened.

Alayne did not know what it was, but the pull was there again, in her chest, milliseconds before they drifted towards each other. It was like her heart always knew when they were going to kiss, but only just a bit beforehand.

The first kiss had broken the dam. And what before had seemed implausible, had now become a possibility.

I never wanted to kiss this much before. I don’t know how I’ll ever stop wanting to kiss him. She had thought about it once or twice in days before this one, but since their first kiss not half an hour had gone by that she did not think of doing just so. Only she had not known whether she would ever kiss him again. Whether he would ever want to.

It had broken her heart, that she’d gotten a taste of what real kissing felt like while she probably would never get more of it.

So her delight and eagerness could not be bigger when his lips met hers again.

Once again she was amazed by his lips, his scent, the movement his lips made, the feeling of his hands against her. It was all so much she just let the experience wash over her.

‘I apologize. I overstepped. You do not wish it’, Willas said as he withdrew when Alayne remained irresponsive.

‘No no. I do. I just… Don’t know… What to do.’

She could see the surprise on his face. And really, she understood. A maid of six-and-ten, especially a commoner, would probably know how to kiss.

‘Don’t tell me I stole your first kiss at the banquet’, he begged.

‘No, a far worse kisser stole it once upon a time.’

‘A far worse kisser? Well, so I’m good?’

Alayne’s cheeks glowed red.

‘I-ah… Yes?’

‘I never had much practice either, locking myself up all day and so on. But I think just responding to the kiss would be a good start. You are allowed to touch me, Alayne.’

The question of whether they should kiss, and what would come of their kissing, was not even thought about.

‘You didn’t?’ she asked hesitantly.’

‘Not that I’m counting, but I believe it can’t have been more than ten people.’

Ten seemed an awfully large number, but if he said it was little, it probably would be.

He was about six-and-twenty. Ten would come down to less than one a year since he turned four-and-ten. She knew many lords who had already sired two bastards by the time they were nine-and-ten. So kissing people wasn’t as bad.

An awkward silence stretched between them.

 _You want to kiss him, he wants to be kissed. Just do it. You don’t know how much more chances you’re going to get_ , she told herself.

She meekly lifted a hand, placing it upon his shoulder. The fabric of his clothes was smooth and patterned. Her fingers brushed over his shoulder and towards his neck. His skin was sticky and warm. One finger tip upwards, his beard started.

Alayne bit her lip as she stroked upwards against the hairgrowth, before letting her fingers glide downward.

Touching him appeared to stoke the fire hearths within her chest and stomach.

Willas had inched closer in the meantime.

She didn’t dare look at his eyes, but his lips were close.

 _Such a pretty shape, and thin. So unlike Joffrey’s_ , she noted.

She dug her fingers into his neck and pulled him forward a little.

Their lips met again.

It was a sweet relief.

She was dizzy. Floating. Yet very solidly planted on earth, tethered to his body as he stroked her hair and caressed her arm.

The world finally felt right. All anxiety slipped off her shoulders.

There was no intrigue today.

No fear.

No political plots.

Just a man telling her what he wanted, and she stating what she wanted, and both getting their way and enjoying their evening.

When she withdrew, she couldn’t help but giggle.

‘I feel very much awake now.’

‘Good’, he smiled. ‘Since there’s something else I need to do.’

‘I thought we had done all we had.’

‘Yes. But there is one more thing I need to do.’

Alayne nodded.

‘I need your absolute confidence though.’

‘Like with the winter preparation?’

‘Actually, this is even more private. You cannot tell another soul. No one. Not even your father. Especially not your father. Can you do that for me? If not, please don’t just agree.’

‘I won’t tell.’

‘I’m afraid that if you tell someone, I’ll have to send you away, and punish you.’

The seriousness was so jarring it left Alayne uncertain.

‘No, I promise. I’ve kept many secrets before. There are so many things I haven’t told a soul. You can count on me.’

‘That’s what I hoped.’

They were in the maze, Willas guiding her through obscure passages.

‘We know this maze by heart. There are paths that naught a soul knows about’, he explained as he told her to push through a hedge that was apparently thinner than it looked. Willas rolled his wheelchair through the opening Alayne created.

After two turns he told her to push back a tall statue. It was apparently on sliders, and slid backwards when a little force was applied, revealing another path. Alayne pushed back the statue, hiding the path from view. The maze was particularly tall here, even looking more and more ungroomed the farther they went.

‘We don’t even allow the gardeners here.’

Alayne was now getting scared. It was incredibly dark here, and she couldn’t hear a single musical instrument or voice anymore.

‘There are not many who remember the oldest tales of Garth Greenhand. They are considerably darker than the stories most people know about him. Once upon a time he was worshipped like a dark deity who demanded blood sacrifice. This is not so strange, considering that he is supposed to have lived back when all weirwoods still stood proud. There was a lot of blood sacrifice going on. A sacrifice to him was meant to ensure a bountiful harvest.’

‘Sacrifice?’ Alayne squeaked.

‘Yes. Quite scary, right? Now we offer food and sing songs. It’s a lot more innocent’, he laughed.

‘In some stories the green god dies every autumn when the trees lose their leaves, only to be reborn with the coming of spring.’

They turned another corner, and reached their destination.

Alayne gasped. Before them rose a weirwood tree. 

‘I thought all trees around here were cut down’, she stuttered.

‘Weirwoods were axed down in the Reach during the days of the First Men. This was the Heart Tree of Highgarden. It was cut down in front of the peasants because almost everyone was afraid of the children looking through the tree and seeing all. But you do not think that the descendants of Garth Greenhand, who according to wild myths walked with giants and befriended the Children of the Forest, would truly unroot the tree? They were Gardeners, in all meanings of the word. They cut down the tree to a foot high stump, and then planted a foot high maze to obscure it from view. I don’t know how they did it. The trees of the High Heart are still stumps, but this one regrew as the maze grew. And as the fear of the children quieted down, most were fine with the tree remaining, since it could only see hedge. And as the maze grew, the tree growing slower, we started hiding the tree. People started forgetting about the tree, out of sight, out of mind. But we know. And we come back to it every so often.’

‘My father once told me that Garth Greenhand was supposedly buried underneath this tree.’

Alayne could still see a line of cruel red sap, as if the tree had only just been cut. Small long branches of leaves sprung from the line of red like a wild bunch of red hand-shaped curls. Its mouth was grim, as if it was dissatisfied that its face had been cut off. The lips had not been carved, unlike the other trees she had seen. The lips had formed on their own, two small protruding bulges of wood. Old Nan told her that the children used to carve out the faces, or sometimes even the people themselves did. This tree was kept alive but had not been given a face.

‘Thank you for bringing me’, Willas said as he rose out of his chair, hobbling towards the tree with the support of his cane.

He sank down in front of it.

In the dark, his clothes appeared black, and his combed out tousled hair almost black. She was reminded of the many times she’d seen her father in a similar position.

From his boot, he retrieved a knife.

‘I apologize, Alayne. This might look a little pagan and ridiculous. Actually it is pagan.’

She inched closer, feeling the familiar eery feeling of a godswood falling over her.

‘I come before you, in the name of my father, and all other Tyrells before him. I thank you for the past harvest, and the long summer. I beg of you, please have mercy on us this winter. Let it be swift and gentle. The people have suffered the past two years. Let us grow stronger this winter. Please let us endure. I want the best for my people.’

Alayne inched closer still. Something was off with the aura of this tree.

‘I know mine is not the blood of kings. It is not even the blood of a fully fledged Lord Paramount, as my father is still alive. But I care for my people just as much as any lord or king. Please, have mercy on us’, Willas said.

To her shock, she saw Willas had retrieved a knife from his boot. He closed his eyes, and then quickly passed it across the palm of his hand before pressing the finger of his other hand against it. Drops of dark blood fell to the roots of the tree, and once it stopped flowing easily, he pressed his hand against them.

A couple more minutes passed, before he pushed himself back up with great difficulty.

He noticed Alayne’s gaze.

‘We don’t sacrifice people anymore. Only a bit of our blood. It’s more of a tradition. But one of the few ones I’m superstitious about breaking. Are you fine?’

‘Yes, I’m just surprised people still do that around here.’

‘Probably only us’, he smiled.

‘Could you pick up my knife? I’m afraid if I do, I won’t be able to get up anymore.’

‘Sure’, she said as she grabbed his knife. By the time she returned he was already in his chair.

His was not the blood of kings.

She gazed back at the tree as she pushed him further.

He didn’t even know who he was really praying to.

As she pushed him around the corner, she made up her mind.

‘Oh, excuse me my lord. I have dropped an earring in the grass. I’ll go fetch it’, she apologized quickly before running back to the tree.

‘Oh, turn me around. Maybe I can help look?’

‘There is no need!’ she cried out. ‘I know where I dropped it I believe.’

Knowing she had only a limited amount of time before he’d turn around and look, she immediately started her job. First she carved a pair of very basic eyes in the tree right above the lips. A shock went through her hand as she held the knife against the tree, a cold fear washing over her and leaving her with Goosebumps all over.

Alayne stumbled back.

Slowly, the sensation of being _seen_ she so often got in the godswood came over her. She pushed back all questions and thoughts forming in her head.

Then, without hesitation lest she chicken out, Sansa cut her hand and held it over the roots.

‘I apologize for cutting you. I merely thought it wrong you had no full face, no eyes. Please forgive me. I meant no harm. I don’t know how much it counts for the blood of kings, but my brother was one, and my family used to be kings. Even back when you were still in power. Bless the Reach and the North, please… and my mother’s home of the Riverlands… and all their people. They have suffered, I don’t want them to suffer anymore. I want peace. The Realm needs to stop bleeding. I wish all those who seek to continue this awful war would die, only them, only the high players who seek to profit off of all the misery and suffering. I thank you for all you’ve given.’

Sansa pressed her lips against the tree, and for a second, she seemed to feel a caress, and a sense of comfort that felt of home.

‘Alayne, have you found it?’ Willas called.

‘Yes!’ Alayne cried, quickly wiping her hand against the bark and running back.

The sky was already lightening by the time they got out of the maze. Both disinclined to part, they took a long time to get back to the castle, taking regular breaks to sit down and talk. Only when the sky was pink they arrived at the castle.

Lord Willas' chair was carried upwards to the ceremonial balcony overlooking the great bonfire in front of the castle. All people who had managed to stay awake were gathered below, holding a glass of sparkling wine as they watched the sky to see the rising sun together.

Smiling, although his face was now etched with tiredness, Willas rose from his chair. Alayne rose too.

Bed, she could only think.

Finally I'll go to bed.

'The sun has risen! And so shall it always rise. After every night comes another dawn. Here is to dawn and new beginnings. May we only grow stronger every dawn!'

The people below repeated him, glasses were raised and drank, before all tired people retreated to the comfort of their beds.

And as Alayne's head hit the pillow, she dreamt only of Willas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AWEwF0PGTmI  the song playing when Alayne is dancing. Oh lord I had such fun with this scene. And with finding music, I just love this channel, it’s so wrong and so right.  
> The switch between the use of the names Alayne and Sansa in the past two chapters (and the future ones) are very deliberate.  
> Some of the passages about Garth Greenhand are almost directly taken from World of Ice and Fire.


	10. Winter is coming

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A sweet short chapter after the big previous one.
> 
> Winds of Winter released chapters spoilers as always.

A cold rain was beating down against the proud white stones of Highgarden. Streams of water dripping down limp flower decorations on the walls of the castle, beating down the wooden shutters of peasant houses, and soaking the flowers standing in the glassless windows.

They had thanked the sun and summer, and now the sun and autumn had thanked them for the party before departing.

When Alayne awoke the day after, rain was blowing into her room through the open windows, the sky a dark grey. The contrast with the previous day was so jarring she wondered whether the Solstice had been a fever dream.

Highgarden had turned into a ghost town. There was nigh a person to be seen outside or in the castle, all sleeping off hangovers or going back to their jobs.

She shivered when she slipped from underneath the covers, and quickly put on the woollen chamber robe she hadn’t needed once since arriving in Highgarden. Putting her nose outside she could see all dirt roads and pebble paths had turned to mud and all remains of the bonfires outside had been washed away with the hard rain.

Today she was back to being Alayne, a foreigner in a distant place where she had no real connections. It made her uneasy to think of it, but it was true. She had a friend in Amaryllis, but where was she and what would become of their friendship?

And what of Lord Willas?

Lord Willas. Her lips tingled and heart jumped when she thought of him. They should not have kissed yesterday, at least not the second time. Nothing could come of yet. It was a devastatingly sad truth, but wine, circumstance and desire had trumped her better judgement.

But nothing was lost, no one knew. There was no harm to it, except her heart.

_Now I’ll have to see him again, knowing what his kisses feel like without being able to taste them ever again._

Some of the kitchen staff that was already preparing supper greeted her with a smile, and two dipped their heads as Alayne grabbed some leftovers from yesterday’s feast, but that was all acknowledgement she got.

It took until supper before Amaryllis appeared, too tired to muster as much as a smile for Alayne. They did catch up, Amaryllis suffering through a bad wine headache. Apparently there had been some kissing with her Garther but she was still struggling to get him to propose. As the food filled her belly though, Amaryllis started awakening, firing questions about how the day had been for Alayne, and what she and Lord Willas had done between the service in the sept and sunrise. Alayne remained vague, but Amaryllis was intent on discovering the truth. She claimed Willas had been intimidating protecting Alayne’s honour during the banquet, the kiss had looked sweet, and they had looked very close and holy. She fed Alayne some snippets of gossip she’d heard during the festivities, ranging from cruel and funny things, to declarations that Alayne truly was the sweetest and most talented maiden. Many proclaimed she’d been so dutiful and sweet, they’d marry her themselves.

‘They even said that if it was not for your birth, they could see him marrying you’, she pressed on, hoping for some more information, but Alayne provided none.

Instead, Alayne fed her boring pieces of information, like how they’d talked about bastards and astronomy and dog breeding over dinner, all of which bored Amaryllis.

‘And we also talked about faith’, Alayne then decided as a thought bubbled up in her head.

‘Discussing marriage ceremonies?’ Amaryllis asked wiggling her eyebrows.

‘No. We saw a theatre show yesterday about the children of the forest and Garth The Green. And a weirwood tree featured in it. And it made me realize that well, I’ve never seen one before. In the story there were trees right here in Highgarden. The septas always taught me that only the Northerners keep those trees anymore, and that the First Men cut them down because they feared the children could see through them, magical fantasy stories I know. But people believed them right? I just, it must be silly... But I wondered why the Northerners would keep them while the rest of Westeros cut them down. Were they not afraid of the children?’ Alayne wondered.

After seeing the tree last night, and knowing there was a godswood in the Eyrie and in Kings Landing although those did not have weirwood trees, she wondered how much more of the myth that all trees had been cut down above the Neck was a lie. Could the Hightowers have a godswood as well? She did not know why, but she could still feel the effect of the tree on her. It had been so long since she’d seen one. At home she’d always been more devoted to the Faith. It had prettier rituals, interesting stories, and a more sophisticated air than the Old Gods. But praying to the Seven felt fake now. One touch to the weirwood tree had made her feel more understood and relieved than a thousand prayers in the sept had ever done lately.

The Tyrells had kept their tree alive. Perhaps there were others.

‘I’m hardly an expert on Northerners’, Amaryllis frowned.

‘I know, I’m not expecting a right answer it was just… something I was thinking of and wanting to discuss. Theorize together, the way we theorize over who could marry who and so on?’ Alayne tried.

‘I know nothing about the North, but we have godswoods in the South.’

‘But not with weirwood trees, right? We have a godswood in the Eyrie, but without a weirwood tree. We have a sculpture there.’

‘I don’t remember much about my time in Oldtown, but we have a godswood with weirwood trees right here in Highgarden.’

But Willas had told her it was secret.

Then how –

‘Did you say trees?’

‘Sure, three of them, entwined together right above a small pool. The Three Singers. I’ve gone swimming there a couple of times when I was too lazy to go down to the maze. Not easy to find though, it’s buried behind a lot of oak trees and a compost pile behind some tall fruit trees. Barely anyone ever walks there nowadays. But well, nobles get bored and start wandering around. Leona pointed it out to the rest of us.’

Willas had lied, even though they kissed.

Although had he lied? He hadn’t said there weren’t others, just that they had hidden this one. It would make sense that no peasants saw or visited the godswood in the highest circle of Highgarden. It was another careful omission.

Lord Willas had morals, he did not lie, but he obviously did not mind twisting the truth. And what was the use of twisting it, what harm would it have done to say there were others ones. They were public. It wasn’t even a secret. Or was he so used to being careful with information he never offered more than needed?

‘Oh’, Alayne brought out silently. ‘I didn’t know.’

‘Obviously’, smiled Amaryllis.

 _Why should we trust each other? There is nothing binding us together that ensures we do not break the other’s trust. There is no formal alliance, no codependency, no marriage. Littlefinger would never have given half as much information as Willas did while I offered so little in return._ But he wasn’t a fool either, he didn't offer more than asked or necessary.

Holding a grudge against him for it would bring her nowhere, but the omission did wound her. She could not take it out against him, that would wound her position. But he was no Joffrey either, he would not have her beaten. He had proved as much when he showed signs of regret instead of anger when she had run away after discovering his identity. Littlefinger and Queen Cersei had taught her enough about female charms. Though she would not use her body, she did not feel above using her tears.

 _Perhaps he’ll pity me and feel bad about it when I pout prettily,_ she mused.

‘Alayne, are you there? You’re zoning out’, Amaryllis noticed.

‘Still a bit tired from yesterday’, she admitted, faking a yawn. Amaryllis smiled and gave a real yawn in turn.

‘Life will be so boring now’, Amaryllis sighed.

‘Why?’

‘Nothing exciting up ahead. Just awaiting winter and working.’

Alayne looked up at the large slim windows on the three free walls of the dining hall. If she strained her ears, she could still hear the rain beating down against the tiny painted squares of glass making up the elegant windows.

‘I don’t think we’ll have to wait very long’, she mused.

‘Ah well, rainy autumn days’, Amaryllis shrugged carelessly. ‘It’ll be good for the crops.’

‘It has rained for four consecutive days. It isn’t good for the crops’, Willas worried.

Alayne observed Willas as he sat in his chair in front of his balcony. In four days the young lord had not risen from his chair, unless it was to go to his bed or the privy.

‘My lord’, Alayne just said.

He rolled himself away from the balcony. His hands were elegant and thick with veins and muscle, his fingers long and nimble.

His dress was as drab as hers, as if the rain had washed away all colour. But almost everyone was wearing dark colours now. Mossy greens, stormy greys, golden browns and dreary blues. All were mourning the loss of the sun.

His clothes were finely made, the brown decorated with golden flowers, but it looked out of date by about a decade, and quite tight around the belly. He hadn’t moved, but he’d eaten all that was served to him from morning until the middle of the night.

Idly she thought back on the story Garlan had told her about his brother. She wondered whether he would make up charming monikers for his brother, as he had done for him. The cripple of Higharden was hardly becoming, and she would not wish upon him a charming nickname like the queen with the thorny tongue gave her son or his nephew. What could his nickname be?

‘The snow is so thick in the North that King Stannis, who had been marching on Winterfell, barely makes any progress. Storms rage in the Riverlands, and the storms have returned to the Stormlands as well. Tell me, Alayne, what weather has the Vale? There are too few birds there. Your father guards his territory well.’

She had received a letter two days ago. Had he not read it then? Or did he want her company? Half of it had been in normal words, half in a code language he had taught her in the Eyrie. It had been based on a fairy tale book of hers, few lords would be able to crack it.

‘It snows my lord. And has been snowing. About a month ago my father reported it had been snowing for three days on end. Snow comes regularly to the mountains though, one day it comes, one day it goes. There are rains as well, but less rain than snow. It rains on the plains though, it is warmer there, away from the mountains, though reportedly it is very cold already.’

He did not answer, instead he just rolled over to his large table.

‘Does it melt?’ he asked as he took a few white pieces the shape of snowflakes.

‘When I was there two months ago, it often laid there for days, only a large amount of sunshine could get it away. Never fully. I doubt it melts now.’

He nodded, placing two snowflakes in the mountainous area and one on the plains of the Vale.

Alayne came closer. Three snowflakes in the North, two in the Vale, two in the Riverlands.

‘You’re tracking where it has snowed’, she concluded.

_Willas The Wise._

It would be quite fitting.

‘Winter is coming. Almost half of the realm has seen at least melting snow. My sources from the Riverlands tell me there a puddles of snow on the sides of the road. Not a lot, but they stay. And my sources are from around Riverrun, I suspect there’s more around the Neck, but I don’t have many spies there. I believe we can expect a raven any day.’

‘When did you first learn of this?’ Alayne asked.

‘I started this two days ago. When I got word of the snow in the Riverlands. Snow in the North never bothered me. They have snow in summer, I assumed a lot of snow in autumn was perhaps not that strange. But snow in the Riverlands? And snow so deep an army is slowed down to the point of stopping in the North? That was alarming.’

The dark circles had returned underneath his eyes. He looked at her tiredly.

‘I hardly know where to start if winter is only days away.’

‘You believe it is?’

He nodded morosely.

‘It worries me. We’ve got good stocks and almost all harvest is in. But the hay that was supposed to dry out in the sunshine is still on the fields. The farmers believe the bad spell will soon pass and then the hay will dry.’

‘My father wrote to me a month ago about how it snowed for days on end. I doubt there will be many more sunny days, my lord. And if there are, we’ll be blessed, but we must not base our behaviour on hope. Hope won’t feed the animals if it rots in the fields amidst the rain.’

Hay had always been one of the first things that was fully brought in in Winterfell. They let it dry inside instead of risking to let it dry on the fields. 

‘You mean I should.’

‘I don’t think you should do anything, my lord, you are free to do as you please. But I personally believe it had better dry somewhere dry and warm inside.’

‘Could you tell me some more about Winters in the Vale again? Perhaps if –‘

‘My lord, if I may speak frankly, I believe you know enough. I believe there is little more I can say that you have not read in your books, learned from your conversations with maesters and bannermen and family, or discussed with me already. I am but a young woman, and not from a farming family. You have elderly farmers around Highgarden as well. Trust on their knowledge, call them together and present your information if you are worried. And think alongside those that know most about growing crops and harvesting them. Present them your plans for winter, have you told them already?’

His face told her he had not. He had not considered those below him, he ordered them and did not trust them with information.

‘I did not want to worry them.’

‘But winter is coming my lord, they need to. It is a direct concern of theirs’, Alayne pointed out. Sansa Stark’s heart fluttered at being able to say her house words, but she was pushed down again. Sansa Stark never spoke so frankly, and had no thought for those beneath her.

 _When I wanted to master the harp, I learned from Leonette._ If he wants to know about growing crops in winter, and he wants it done, he should talk to those who do so professionally.

‘My lord, why am I really here? Am I only here to tell you about the weather?’ Alayne asked.

Willas remained silent.

It had been days.

Days in which he’d anxiously watched the weather, wrote to the maesters studying the coming and going of the seasons in the Citadel. Days of anxiously awaiting each crow as the day of Cersei’s trial came closer. He feared she would exact revenge for being trialled.

He wrote to his mother, who asked him how the harvest feast had been (which was the title they gave the celebrations in case spies shot the raven out of the sky) and told him about the feelings of resentment against the royal house, and the Lannisters in particular. The support for the Reach being involved in King’s Landing was dropping. His mother wrote that the Reach lords around her were discontent with how the Reach was being treated as a free-for-all grain shed while they did not get a lot more sway politically. Well at least now Mace was hand, and his father had written to him saying that Garth would soon become Lord Treasurer. They would have little reason to complain now.

Meanwhile news from the east coast had come in, some good, a lot worrying. After landing in Griffin’s Roost, Jon Connington was now marching on Storm’s End. Willas wished them luck, it was already a sheer miracle it had been taken once, and men had spoken of sorcery then. And a sheer miracle to that he landed there right after the Redwyne fleet passed, they would have stopped or spotted him.

His good uncle had made it past the Stepstones safely without being attacked by pirates. But he heard worrying tales of Aurane Waters declaring himself a pirate lord, and Tarth falling.

His father hadn’t been very invested or worried about Jon Connington.

 _“As for Connington, what victories has he ever won that we should fear him? He could have ended Robert's Rebellion at Stoney Sept. He failed. Just as the Golden Company has always failed. Some may rush to join them, aye. The realm is well rid of such fools”,_ he had written to his son.

Willas did not look upon it that lightly. Once Arianne sailed in five days, he would soon know whether Connington was successful, and the boy he had brought was truly a Targaryen.

Willas would not mind a Targaryen on the throne, as long as he could safely detach his sister from the Lannisters. He didn’t mind anyone on the throne.

_Let the Tyrells be known as the biggest turncloaks in history, I don’t care. I only care not to be attacked from all sides. Ironmen on our eastern and southern shores, a Targaryen and the golden company closing in from the Stormlands and Dorn potentially rallying behind them and attacking as well. It’s winter, I don’t want the rivers to freeze red._

The West Coast left him worried too. Garlan had arrived at Old Oak and would lay siege to the Shield Islands at night. Willas did not feel good about attacking Ironmen from water on islands, it was what they excelled at. Mace had also given negative advice, he wanted Garlan to wait until Loras was well again, and until the Ironmen were defeated in Oldtown.

And in between receiving and writing letters, he had placed orders for glass, iron, wood and stone, just like he had advised all lords of his council to do. Many had gotten letters about heavy rain and strong winds. They had been aware of autumn time, and had cared a good deal more about it than most Southron lords, but only this sudden turn shocked them into the realization that summer was no longer ending, but autumn itself was ending.

Many of them were young, and had been but babes and children during the last winter. There were only a couple lords who had seen two or more winters, and all had been mild. The wisest were asking for leave, the dumbest were encouraged by Willas to leave. And armed with the “winter survival tactics” they had discussed with Willas and the maesters, most were now preparing to leave.

Why did he have her summoned?

Because every night when he went to bed, even as tired as he was, the thought of her managed to push through the sludge of problems demanding attention in his head.

‘I missed your company’, he answered as if that didn’t massively underplay the reality.

 _Willas the Worrisome_ , she thought as he finally started talking after a very long pause.

‘I always talk well with you. And I find our conversations most pleasant and informative.’

Alayne’s heart did not even sink as his words were void of romance and downplayed what had blossomed between them. She had expected nothing else. It was how she would have responded to the question.

‘I wanted your council’ he prompted as he wheeled back towards his desk, eager to downplay his want for her company by reasoning he had an actual need for her company. She followed him slowly, even though she could have easily reached his desk before him.

‘It’s about those rooms we discussed. The ah – here I have it, see – the greenhouses. And here, the empty rooms in the servant’s wing on the first floor above the kitchens. And I would get the flower orangeries as least partially empty for fruit trees and the like… How would you design them? How quick do you think we need them. See, I thought wood was easiest to come by, and it builds faster than stone and metal… But should I use metal and stone instead? And why –‘

He halted when a very soft hand was laid on his own as he was grabbing onto papers and turning pages from notebooks.

Such soft hands for someone who would have grown up making clothes and cleaning.

‘My lord, I cannot advise you further when I don’t have all information.’

‘What information do you need?’

‘All regarding a topic, and preferably some more circumstantial information that might help in regards to the topic. Like a cook, I need ingredients. But I also need to know how everything in the kitchen works.’

‘So you can cook up the perfect recipe to save us, fragile flowers, from winter?’

Willas the witty.

‘My lord, if I am worthy of a position as adviser, I would like to make the most out of it. How can I do so, if I feel like I do not have all the information about the topic I am expected to advise you upon?’ Alayne asked as she sat down on the edge of the desk.

‘Have I done something to displease you? To inspire mistrust?’ she asked as she looked at him with her wide and innocent eyes, her lips pulled down unhappily.

‘No. Not at all. Why?’

‘You have not lied to me yet, my lord. Not that I know. But you have protected your knowledge well. First your identity, and now with the weirwood trees.’

‘I don’t follow’, Willas stammered, but he already felt uneasy, heat pooling in his loins as he could not help but look at Alayne’s breasts every time he turned his head to look at her face.

‘You told your story, on the day of the celebrations, as if that tree was the only tree. You said trees were chopped down, and you chopped that one down as well because of it. It lead me to think that all trees were indeed chopped down and you just saved the one.’

He had told her that.

‘But then it turns out you have three more standing in Highgarden. The singers.’

Yes. Why was this – oh, she hadn’t known about them. How could she. The presence of weirwood trees wasn’t talked about or written about, they just were. He knew of their existence, and all those around him did as well. He had not seen the need to be complete with his information.

Of course those trees have remained. Back in those days, the top layer had been Gardeners only, and the gardens weren’t as ornate and hadn’t required as much staff. It had been their private godswood. Except, it didn’t make sense to see that as evident. Alayne was raised like a septa in the Vale, why should she know about the evolution of Highgarden and the presence of a godswood for gods she didn’t believe in? Only nobles knew, and some gardeners and servants probably since they walked around in the top layer of Highgarden.

‘It wasn’t deliberate, Alayne. I don’t lie. I have honour. I didn’t think of it. I didn’t see the need of being that inclusive in my explanation. Not out of ill will.’

And then he became angered that she accused him of hiding things, when he had been more open with her on that night than he had been with almost anyone the past decade.

‘I was being very open with you that night. I told you things that have not been said to anyone who wasn’t a close family member in ages while you –‘

Alayne’s lips trembled.

While she was no family?

While she was a bastard?

While she was the daughter of the most unreliable man in Westeros?

While he had no objective reason to trust her?

Willas deflated. It was no fault of her own.

‘You say I am omissive. Then allow me to tell you all you desire to know. You are reasonable to ask for knowledge when advising me. But I cannot sense your needs perfectly. You need to ask thoroughly as well.’

‘I do not accuse you in any way, my lord. But please admit you often avoided revealing the entire truth and never explained more than needed for my understanding. It is not only my fault for not asking. Sometimes I knew not there was anything to ask. I did not know enough to suspect more information lay waiting behind an answer.’

Like when he had told her he was a Tyrell, carefully omitting he was the future heir.

He worried his lip as he absorbed her words. There was a truth to them, and it was evident on her face that she had carried this frustration for a while.

‘You were under no obligation. It is a lord’s duty to keep his secrets, and to protect his region. A wise lord does not trust stranger and I fear I am one to you. You have known me but for two months. I understand. But my lord, when was the last time you ever felt like a fool?’

Willas remained silent, thinking back on how he felt like one in his early youth and around his accident. He had felt embarrassed and ashamed at every wrong word he said out of ignorance, and still cringed years later at the actions he did not think through thoroughly. He despised the feeling. But far worse was the realization that this was not the feeling of foolishness Alayne must have suffered. She had made wrong assumptions, not because she did not read or know enough, but because the truth had been kept from her. And she had felt foolish when after his omissions she found out the truth. She felt cheated and played like an ordinary pawn.

He remembered the sting of humiliation he had felt in his youth at not having been given the chance to do or learn something, as if he were not capable or smart or good enough to know the truth.

He had led her to feel this way multiple times.

Willas felt something stir inside him, a feeling he was deeply familiar with. Shame. Pain.

These feelings had so often revolved around himself. Pain and shame were something he inflicted upon himself after his pride and arrogance injured him. It was estranging to register those feelings within him, but they were because of his treatment of another. It was now inflicted upon him because he had injured another.

He felt the injury of the wounds his thorns had inflicted upon her as if they pierced his own confidence instead of hers. No doubt the wrong assumptions and the mortification after learning the truth, knowing she had made a mistake, stung her.

‘It was a long time ago’, he answered. ‘But it is not a feeling I wish upon anyone.’

His grandmother had made him grow up wise, clever and cunning, ensuring the thorns grew along with the petals so no one could abuse his soft gifts of intelligence, caring, chivalry and diplomacy. They were well protected within a fortress of thorns.

He was the rose, and had felt strong and safe growing his thorns. But now he could see the injured bee impaled upon a thorn twice as broad and long as even the largest petal, knowing it could have gifted him with more power to grow but his thorns had prevented it from coming closer and doing good.

Shame. He felt deep shame.

Because he had benefitted from her greatly. She had bestowed upon him the gifts of her knowledge, her intelligence, her kindness, her love, her care, her time and her humour.

She was helping his region grow even in the winter snow. She had kept him from cursing the solstice celebrations with his bad leg twice, in ways not a single other woman would have thought of. She did all of this without asking for anything. Only that he treat her well.

And he had repaid her by keeping distant and being protective of his information.

‘I have been called a fool a great many times by a great many people. Sometimes because I was indeed a spoilt petulant child unwilling to learn or even see the truth. Sometimes because I follow the right path, the moral path, while the world does not adhere to a moral compass. Sometimes I was called a fool for dreaming. I am a slow learner sometimes. I feel foolish and humiliated when I make mistakes and oh I do make a lot. But lately I have felt like a fool through no fault of my own.’

His fault.

He had spent many years learning to protect himself, learning to trust less and less, to rely on as few people as possible. He did not know how to let people in that he had not known since childhood.

Only his family, maester Lomys and their oldest servants and friends were really trusted. He did not even give all his information on a topic to people whom it concerned, like his bannermen.

Perhaps this was why he felt so isolated and lonely. It definitely had to do with being buried in work and rarely going downstairs for other reasons than to visit his animals. But when he did go down, he only spoke to people working for him, or he spoke to nobles and merchants diplomatically to keep up appearances.

_When did I last speak to someone else but my family for pleasure?_

_When did I last write a letter that did not have to do with anything practical?_

His first non-family thought was Ser Raymas, but he was Garlan’s good brother. The next was Oberyn. But that thought quickly soured. Oberyn had been dead for half a year, and even during their correspondence they had mostly discussed useful things. Some of it had been pleasurable, but most of it was about politics, horses and their shared studies of interest. Both had forged some chains in the Citadel and wanted to keep their knowledge updated. Oberyn had also sent drawings of lifts and Doran’s chair back when they all feared Willas would never walk again.

Willas, at seven-and-ten, had come to Oldtown once he could hobble around and stand, but would not have been able to do stairs, walk, sit in auditoria for a long time. He had been taught privately in the Hightower. He’d gotten on well with his Hightower cousins, but they were family. And acolytes and other students he did not see a lot of.

He thought back on his youth. He’d had a decent score of friends then, most of them boys who’d been squiring at the same time as him. But half a year of being stuck in his room and half a year hiding in shame was the end of those friendships.

_We parted as friends, and met again as mere acquaintances._

He looked up, his memories plopping around him like soap bubbles.

He was very isolated.

No more.

‘I have wronged you. You should not have been made to feel like a fool. I’ve apologized once before for pretending, and I tried to make up for it without changing. I’ve been raised to be a lord, not a friend. I’m afraid I’ve been a poor substitute for the rest of my family, most of them are very sociable, pleasant and considerate, my siblings above all others.’

Willas put a hand on her knee, and it sent shivers straight to her belly.

‘Could you stand?’

She did.

‘Now take that chair over there and place it beside mine, right here’, he said as he rid his desk of all unnecessary clutter.

‘I do not trust easily, and I shouldn’t. And there are still things I cannot speak about with you. But I want to do my best to tell all there is to tell about things that concern you, your father, and the other things I discuss with you.’

Alayne nodded hesitantly, but appeared to be glad of his decision.

There was so much more he wanted to say to her, but he pushed it away and instead started going over all his plans, the designs he’d envisioned, the materials he had to his availability and the amount of workmen he had available. She asked questions, and he showed her all the information. He answered and gave all insights and information that could potentially be relevant to the matters she asked questions about.

As the evening slipped past, their conversation grew less hurried and focussed. Willas found himself wishing he did speak up more. He swallowed so many words down, telling himself it was prudence and wisdom when his main motivation was cowardice.

‘It’s a lot of work’, he decided as he looked upon the long list of things that had yet to be done, things that had to be ordered and made. Would they even have enough time to do it all?

‘Highgarden counts many hands.’

‘Not all of them skilled craftsmen. I’ll be needing all of them and more as the farmers fill their sheds and prepare their harvest, and the kitchen staff does her best preserving the foods we have.’

‘No, but we can all help. If you call upon us all, we shall all see how important the winter preparations are. And the people shall admire you for being transparent and doing all you can. What harm does it do to show you are concerned about winter?’

Little, but it was not in his nature to show his intentions, not even when they could be public.

‘Hm.’

‘Did we not all help with the celebrations? I’d say there’s plenty of goodwill to work.’

‘Yes, but that was for a party. People always love parties.’

‘People also love living’, she pointed out with a smile.

He smiled in response.

‘Ah, that they do. Perhaps I could…’

Their lives depended on his preparations.

‘No, I shall do it.’

Then he took his to-do list.

‘So tomorrow I’ll send letters to all stone masons, glass makers, wood sculptors and builders, promising them good wages so we are prepared for winter and they’ll have enough money. I’ll call the farmers together to discuss the crops that are still out on the fields, and discuss with them my plans for indoor and outdoor farming. Then call together the livestock farmers. Then the builders and gardeners. If they need more men I could perhaps give them the hands of a few knights. I’m sure it’ll ruffle some feathers but they are the strongest men we have besides those already in employment so they could help speed up the building.’

Alayne nodded approvingly, leaning heavily on the table to support her head that grew heavier every minute.

‘I’ve made inquiries and we have a lot of shutters and glass windows and prettily crafted wooden pieces to block the windows that don’t have glass in summer. Perhaps the servants could do that, with the help of some of the ladies? Highgarden is quite empty right now, but I expect that if it will become a hard winter the war will have to be paused and Highgarden will run full with people. So I’d start with the rooms that are currently occupied, and perhaps move some people to rooms that still have glass windows, and preferably fireplaces. Then I’d start doing the rooms with balconies and large open windows.’

Alayne nodded.

‘Perhaps it is also a solution that the ladies and lords and sers who have servants waiting on them let their servants do the placing of the windows in their rooms. That way the castle servants could focus on the rest of the castle?’ Alayne asked.

She blinked slowly, her body was warmed from the fire that burned close-by, and the gentle beating of the rain against the windows and wooden shutters made her drowsy, but her mind was pulled out of its sleepiness by a sudden thought.

‘Tapestries. Tapestries keep the heat, the warmest rooms are those made of wood and hung full of tapestries’, she explained. ‘So buying more tapestries won’t hurt. And they can be made all year through, even in the depth of winter. So it doesn’t require a lot of money immediately.’

‘That will be a great relief to my father. He will probably faint when he sees the bill of the solstice and the bill for the winter preparations.’

‘Did he not wish for the solstice?’

‘He did.’

‘And winter preparations are not exactly optional.’

‘No, but I have looked over the bills of the previous winters since he has become a lord. I’ve spent more money on preparations than he did on a whole winter.’

‘But no money will be lost. If there is more food it harms no one, you could throw a feast or two more when you see you have no need for large stocks, or you could sell some. Tapestries can be sold to others or repurposed as well. And the greenhouses can be repurposed for growing exotic flowers. Little will be lost.’

‘Little will be lost except for money right now. My father worries about the present. The war still rages on. Neither he nor I would like for the Reach to be fully prepared for winter, only to be attacked by a huge army and die despite our preparations because we could not pay for our defence.’

A chill chased over Alayne’s skin.

‘A dark worrisome thought’, she mused.

Willas nodded slowly, taking another sip of his wine.

‘Do you sometimes worry about dying?’ he questioned softly without looking at her.

‘I do.’

‘I worry so much about my family members. We are so tightly knit, each of us has their use and set of talents that made our house grow. For example, I know the chances are slim my grandmother will see another spring, but I cannot imagine our house without her. So much of the present has been shaped by her. And then there are so many members of my family in King’s Landing. Far away from home. If something happens to the city, if it gets sacked… My sister, my father, my cousins, my brother’s wife, and soon my uncle too. They’re all in danger and I can do nothing to help. I’m too far removed.’

Alayne sought out the hand that laid on his armrest.

‘No one stays alive, Willas. Death always takes adjusting, and there will always be loss, not only emotionally but as you said their absence will be felt by the family, but it is life. You will manage. You’ll have to.’

He did not hear how she had switched from addressing him as lord to his given name, he was floating in the sea of his own worries.

‘Sometimes I worry I’ll die. I’m not very mobile, I can’t run away if an assassin comes into my room. I could be killed tonight and leave the world after having spent my whole life waiting. Waiting to be a lord, waiting to do something useful, waiting to marry. I could die without offspring. And if I die then Garlan is the heir. And he is married but has no children of his own either, and he’s currently attacking the Ironborn right as we speak. And should he die, which is just as possible, perhaps even more so, then it leaves only Margaery and Loras. Loras is Kingsguard, he can’t inherit or marry unless he’s dismissed like Ser Barristan. But nobody has been dismissed before or after him. Margaery is currently married to a boy, so it would take a long time for them to have children, and she would need to birth two boys for our house to have a heir. Our House could go extinct, and the title would go to a cadet branch. Or worse, a new war would break out within the Reach, with lords fighting for the title. All that we have built, all that we have done, for nothing.’

‘You think about this often, don’t you?’ Alayne questioned.

She knew well how it felt. The loss of her father had made her think about the future of her house. And as her siblings dropped one by one, so had risen her fear for the end of House Stark. And now she was the only one left. Also unmarried and without being able to procure an heir to ensure the survival of her house.

He worried for things she had not worried about yet when her family had been alive like his. But she had been a child, children did not think about the future or the past all that much.

_If I was Sansa Stark, I could help him._

She wished she could do something to ease his worry, for the burden was heavy. She was also the heir of a house. Well, she was a woman and women could not inherit. And Winterfell was taken by the Boltons. But she could try and claim it as Lord Baelish had promised.

There must always be a Stark in Winterfell, the Northerners would understand. They were loyal.

‘The burden of an heir once he is borne, is to ensure the survival of the house’, he answered d he sat up straight, rolling his impressive shoulders and cracking his neck before looking at her.

‘I’m sorry, it is hardly a conversation to be had right before bedtime’, he apologized.

‘Now it is a conversation before bedtime, I believe these are thoughts you probably have right as you want to go to bed.’

They were for her. Those worries always came as she fell asleep each day, never a step closer to becoming Sansa Stark again or saving her house.

‘They are’, he answered truthfully, his thumb stroking over the hand she had laid on his own.

‘I like your company. And I do enjoy our conversations. It has been so long since I had someone to speak to who I didn’t have to lord over. I could just be me, and now I can be me as both lord and person to you. But I’m afraid that also brings along the dark and heavy conversations’, he explained.

‘I don’t mind them. Everyone has burdens that they have to carry, it’s how it is.’

She rolled her lip against her teeth, shyly looking up before continuing. She could once again feel the fire within her that knew this was a precious moment.

‘I enjoy talking with you too.’

‘Perhaps that’s why I kept finding excuses to call you.’

Alayne’s heart fluttered.

They both stared at their united hands.

‘And now I’ll make the conversation heavy and awkward one final time tonight’, Willas sighed as he encapsulated her hand in hers.

‘Because we cannot do this innocently, pretending we don’t know what we are doing and what the risks are. We are too smart for that. I want to continue spending time with you. I feel we understand each other, don’t we Alayne? I feel our minds work together harmoniously. We both see aspects of problems the other doesn’t, and together find great solutions and make good plans. And we can laugh and have comfortable conversations together.’

Alayne felt the same way. She kept her eye focussed on the large golden signet ring with the Tyrell rose on his hands. Fine brown hairs dusted his fingers until the first knuckle.

‘But there’s also something else to us. We are both lonely and in need of good company. Let’s be honest and admit we are attracted to each other.’

Her eyes widened and flew up. Never before had a man spoken to her in that way, and about such a topic. His bluntness startled her, and she blushed profusely.

‘I will not use you, or take anything from you that you don’t offer freely. So don’t feel forced to agree with anything I now propose. I won’t lay with you, out of respect for both you and your father. But if you’d be willing, I’d very much like to continue our friendship and affectionate ways. In private, of course’, he explained gently.

Alayne took her time processing his words. A thousand questions fired off inside her head, and her belly twisted in turns and knots. But she kept it all in.

‘So… We would… Continue as we did before. Be like we were tonight, but with kisses?’ she asked carefully. In the end that was what all her questions boiled down to.

Willas nodded.

‘We both know we are not free to do as we please, so there’s no use in pretending we are. And we’ll probably part in the future, and it’ll be sad. But I’ve spent many years not letting anyone close.’

So had she. And they both feared dying without being kissed or touched. Without being loved. She feared dying without being loved. She had been denied affection and care for years. Perhaps a little heartache was worth the pleasure their agreement could provide.

‘So have I.’

And then her shoulders straightened. She could decide over this. She could make a decision for herself and play an active role in her story. Finally something sweet was offered to her without it being just a promise. He had treated her like an adult tonight. Really listening to her, heeding her advice, treating her like a real partner and confidante, and now he believed she was mature enough to make this decision. No one was making decisions for her tonight.

‘Yes, I’d like that very much.’

Their smiles returned, and the warmth returned to them instantly.

Perhaps it wasn’t the wisest decision. But it would harm no one.

He reached forward slowly, cupping her face before uniting their lips.

Half an hour more was spent, both savouring the quietness of night and the comfort the other’s arms provided, before they each went to their separate beds.

The next days were a flurry as Alayne and Willas both took duties on their shoulders to prepare Highgarden for winter at a high speed. Councils were gathered, flocks of workmen arrived and started working in the pouring rain, and letters kept flowing in. At the end of each day, both felt tired to the bone, but allowed themselves an hour of comfort each day from which they sourced their strength to make it through the next day.

Then in the evening of the twenty-eighth of June three ravens arrived.

Didn’t people say bad news never came alone?

Princess Myrcella had left Dorne and was on her way to King’s Landing accompanied by Lady Nymeria Sand who would claim a seat on the Council.

Second was a short letter written hastily by his father containing no more than three lines. Kevan Lannister was murdered. The killer unknown.

Alayne and Willas had just been discussing the first two letters when maester Lewyn knocked on the door, a letter in one hand, and white feathers in the other.

‘They say dark wings, dark words’, muttered Alayne. ‘Yet the worst raven of all…’

A white raven from the Citadel.

Winter had come at last.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Our darlings deserved a good conversation, I'm not much one for "big misunderstandings" (she says as she still has a secret identity plot).  
> This will be an intermediary chapter, the cute times are over now and winter is here. It's time to get into plot. 
> 
> Some quotes are taken directly from the books.  
> Sorry for slipping from Sansa’s to Willas’ head, but both were important right now, usually I stick to one main pov a chapter but I really can't help screwing my own rules every now and then. 
> 
> Talking about POV, the next one will be a new POV (though until now I only plan on using it once). Can anyone guess?


	11. The player and his pawns

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some of you guessed this one would be coming. 
> 
> This chapter was such a headache, it's been rewritten five times and I'm still not happy. I wish we had Littlefinger's pov in the books, but of course it's a lot more interesting to have us not know him and to keep us guessing. I've spent years YEARS trying to figure out where Littlefinger was going. In the end I had to stop reading and writing on fora and choose something. So here's Littlefinger as good as I could put him, with a thousand plans and thoughts running through his head at once.
> 
> TW: Littlefinger’s very cruel in his thoughts about disabled people, but not especially more so than certain other aSoIaF characters.
> 
> The sentences between asterixes mean Littlefinger coded that part of the letter.
> 
> @ the people pointing out Sansa's hypocrisy; that's deliberate. Sansa is redirecting her mistrust towards Willas after being constantly lied to by everyone in King's Landing and Littlefinger. Sansa is growing, and is becoming more direct in the last book and the winds of winter chapter. She teases, she calls others out on bullshit, but never the people she fears and depends upon (i.e. Littlefinger), added to that Willas is someone she feels safe around, safe enough to speak of such things. But at the same time, as she's still more afraid of Littlefinger than she is scared about Willas being angry, she keeps lying about her identity. But the bomb will go off soon, hehe.
> 
> Also: there's a lot of things I'm explaining in the notes and I had too few characters to do so with a lot of detail. It's not the main focus of my story, so if anyone wants to theorize or has questions about my explanations/ideas, feel free to comment <3

_**Petyr Baelish POV** _

It is all one big game.

Most men are but pawns on the board. Some can move in a couple of interesting ways, but most are boring pieces, able to take the same predictable steps.

Those that could move in many ways were oftentimes rich lords with a lot of means but little brains. If they had more brains, they would be players.

Few are players.

And there were less and less of them each day. How few were there that recognized the game of thrones for what it was? And fewer still were those who could play the game with a successful strategy and goals in mind.

One by one his fellow players disappeared off of the board.

He was a player. And he remained as others fell. To be frank it did feel lonely to have no one to spar with. It was what had made King’s Landing so infinitely interesting, but he supposed he was lucky. Much as he enjoyed playing the game, the fewer people who could ruin his plans the better.

That was the downside of being a schemer and keeping cards close to his chest, many plans failed or didn’t come through. Too many variables. He was better at keeping track of them and manipulating them than he was in the past, and growing better still. But there was no such thing as a perfect player.

Especially with those buggering wild pawns that made wild unpredictable jumps.

Less players, more crazy pawns. Gone were the Starks, Tully’s, Baratheons and Arryns. Those had been great pieces to posess, easy to manipulate and easy to predict. And all were strong pawns that could unlock bigger parts of his game. Now the game board was filled with Cersei’s, Boltons, and Greyjoys. Crazy pawns that didn’t adhere to any code of conduct and could not be understood with reason.

He’d been relieved to see Tywin go. But was sad to see Kevan Lannister go.

He was the last beacon of sanity and predictability in King’s Landing.

Baelish thrived on chaos. When big lords played the game of thrones, the lands bled red. But then it was the time for crows, and he was one for sure. When houses fell and men died, he took advantage of it. But Kevan Lannister was a reasonable and predictable man who served his purpose and was the last barricade holding Cersei Lannister in check. Cersei was unhinged and power hungry. He wanted Kevan Lannister to stay alive.

Now Baelish could only hope her trial would end her. The new royal pair appeared to be stable, manipulatable and safe. But he doubted Westeros would be so lucky, Cersei would find a way to win her trial, and she wouldn’t care whether it would look corrupt. She believed that if she was high up enough, no one could touch her.

He had been genuinely intrigued for a couple of days as to who could have killed Kevan.

Cersei could be angry that her uncle had become regent and she had been stripped of her power, but according to his informants she had become mad with anger and started accusing everyone of killing her uncle. He doubted she had enough smarts in her to play such a farce. Besides, he doubted she would pick up the same weapon used to kill her father. She wouldn’t mimic the imp, not even to blame him, she hated him too much for it.

The Tyrells wouldn’t have done it. They just got a lot of concessions out of Kevan. There were soon to be two Tyrells on the small council, one of them on the throne. The only things between them and total rule were a reasonable Lannister, a humiliated old queen and a malleable lion cub. They also wouldn’t use a crossbow, not their style of killing.

A lot of names had been flung, all with some reasons to kill him. But there were no very strong motives.

So who killed Kevan Lannister, leaving behind plenty of suspects but no concrete clues? The key suspects all lacked enough reason. They wouldn’t want to destabilize King’s Landing further by taking out a voice of reason.

Who could have killed him and Pycelle in their own rooms without any guard noticing someone walking by? Since Tywin’s death and the burning of the tower of the hand the security was through the roof. Who had no clear reason, didn’t mind destabilizing the realm, and could move through the castle unseen? It had the spider’s signature all over it.

News of Jon Connington taking Storm’s End had soon followed, together with news of a Targaryen pretender. Not the girl who had allegedly hatched dragons across the Narrow Sea, but another one claiming to be Aegon Targaryen. When Varys had said he served the realm, Baelish had not expected the eunuch to favour a particular side.

But these were the facts. Varys had taken out a very old maester with a lot of knowledge on poisons and a stabilizing and uniting man who had a lot of military experience. Aurane Waters had left with some ships and was probably pirating around the Stepstones, Paxter Redwyne was sailing towards the Greyjoy fleet. King’s Landing was almost empty. The small council had new need of a regent and a grand maester. Baelish wondered who would fill those positions. It was clear Mace mistrusted the Westermen, Stormmen and Rivermen. The regency would probably go to Margaery, she was Tommen’s wife and old enough, and Mace had an uncle who was a maester.

Only the position of advisor would go to someone outside the Reach, and it was a Dornish bastard. It wouldn’t please the other lords. It would make the Tyrells look suspicious. It would make the other lords doubt the legitimacy of the crown.

_Good job Varys, you knew how Mace would react. You knew what it would do to King’s Landing. And should your boy lay siege to King’s Landing, you know Mace is quick to bargain. He doesn’t fight. But do you really think this boy has the power to take the throne?_

Baelish doubted Mace, who now held all the power in Westeros, would switch to the side of an old friend of Rhaegar and a young boy with no real army. He had nothing to gain and everything to lose. They said the Targaryen pretender had the support of the golden company, but Baelish doubted the boy had access to even half of their fleet. He didn’t look to be half as much of a threat as the two Baratheon brothers or Robb Stark in the past. Who would take his side and defend his claim? Most soldiers were dead, the lands ravaged, the lords beaten. Even if they were displeased with the crown, why would they side with a Targaryen and risk lose even more?

Baelish couldn’t help but conclude Varys had grown soft with age. The best players were those keeping their loyalties uncertain, betting on all potential outcomes.

_You have chosen your side, my friend, I hope you’re happy with it._

He finished penning his letter with questions to his spies in King’s Landing.  
It didn’t matter a lot what happened in the capital. His plan was supposed to work no matter who ended up on the throne, but it was good to keep track anyway.

_“Do the rumours mention this pretender having a dwarf with him?”_

He regretted not having Varys’ elaborate network of spies and informants. His information drizzled in slowly. But if the reports were true, a blond dwarf was seen in Meereen together with Jorah Mormont, there were the Targaryen princess reigned with her apparent dragons. A blond dwarf had also been seen near Jon Connington.

Tyrion Lannister. It had to be him. Nobles never did look at bastards, cripples and disfigured people, their prejudices prevented them from seeing them as legit players and pawns. But that’s the thing with dwarves, there aren’t many of them. So if a blond dwarf appears, people notice. And when a dwarf appears near two Targaryens, that’s suspicious.

If he was right about Varys siding with the Targaryens, he wondered whether Varys and Tyrion were in the same league. No one could move unnoticed through the castle like Varys, and Tyrion _had_ mysteriously disappeared. Had Varys freed Tyrion Lannister and sent him towards the Targaryens? Were the two Targaryens working together?

 _The plot thickens,_ he mused.

How did one man that was meant to die at birth keep on ruining his plans and surviving against impossible odds?

Tyrion might have given him the Riverlands, but he had ruined some of his other plans greatly.

First he’d seen through Baelish’s debt-causing expenses. He’d almost begun solving the crown’s money trouble too. All those years of meticulously working the Iron Throne into debt, and the monkey had almost ruined it all.

And then, of course, there was the biggest crime of all. And the imp hadn’t even known he’d committed it. Well, technically, the crime was two-fold. First, he’d married Sansa Stark, the girl Baelish had decided would be his wife the second he talked to her at the Hand’s Tourney. Sure, she hadn’t been a part of his original plan. But he figured she fit in perfectly, after all, what fun was it to be the debt collector of all of the realm when he was alone? He deserved a good wife, and here was a young malleable second chance at Cat. He had been a green fifteen year old boy the first time around, but now he held all the power. He wouldn’t be refused a second time.

After her marriage to the dirty imp with his filthy unworthy paws he’d married Lysa. He was a patient man, he could wait for her. After all he’d been setting up his plans for the Vale since before Sansa Stark ever became a prospect. With the Iron Throne in debt, the Iron Bank had started calling in its loans, and many Vale lords were threatening to go bankrupt until Baelish swooped in on Lysa’s side to buy up their debts. And now they were all indebted to him, and he had all their sons as wards. He could have some fun and use his power over them to make them do his bidding. Corbray, Waynwood, Hardyng, Grafton, Belmore… But not Royce.

‘Why couldn’t they be in debt?’ Baelish growled as he angrily stamped his ring in the wet wax of his letter for King’s Landing.

‘Whore of a Myranda is making moves on Hardyng and there’s nothing to do against it. I had a deal with the kid’s warden since she had money trouble but the Royces have money and power too. And with Sansa gone, winter in Westeros and the Boltons occupying Winterfell even the promise of a unified Vale and North doesn’t look attractive to them.’

‘We don’t need the North, it’s nothing but destroyed houses, angry bannermen and many mouths to feed. Besides, who wants a war in winter in the North?’, Baelish sang in a sarcastic mimic of Anya Waynwood’s voice.

He sighed, taking another sheet to start his letter to his dear sweet daughter. He needed her back. They hadn’t found Shadrich yet, and he was risking a lot by having her come back if Ser Shadrich was still getting closer to King’s Landing, but he had to make sure she returned before the rivers froze, the seas were filled with ice, and the roads were covered in snow. And once the rivers were frozen and the roads covered in snow, the knights of King’s Landing could not reach the Vale until Winter was over. Or it would take them months. They would not be able to stop him from realizing his plans.

Alayne Stone had to marry Harold Hardyng and for that to happen Myranda Royce’s seduction attempts had to be cut short.

Well that, and he had to repair the damages made during the tourney. Harry had been furious at the idea of having to marry a dishonoured bastard.

His only comfort amidst his fear of losing the Vale as a sphere of influence once Robyn died was that at least his final plan, his marriage to Sansa, wasn’t threatened right now.

Sansa did not appear to be close to any of the Tyrells or any other Reach lords, mostly she appeared to keep to the company of another bastard in service there. His clever girl, sticking to the lower ranking where she belonged as his bastard. She wouldn’t get stolen in the Reach. And since she depended entirely upon him, she wouldn’t go against his plans.

_“My dear daughter,_

_I too have received the white raven. Its arrival didn’t surprise me, and it does not change a lot for me. The Vale lords know how to deal with winter, they have seen many._

_I have also heard of the news of Kevan Lannister’s death. It was surprising to me, and I’m sorry to see him go. He was a wise man with a good eye for politics. He possessed the rare talent of being useful during times of war and times of peace. As I know you to be a virtuous pious maiden, please pray for King’s Landing. You know little of it, but trust me when I say this is bad news for them. Pray that they may find proper replacement. King’s Landing needs intelligent men able to keep the peace. It is unfortunate that I cannot offer to help myself, but I am needed here.”_

Baelish looked at the letter with satisfaction. There, now everyone who opened the letter before Sansa, and he had no doubt her letters were read in Highgarden, would know Baelish had no interest in seeing Kevan gone.

_“You are needed here too._

_I miss you, as do our handsome young Vale lords. I know you have grown fond of Highgarden, and I don’t doubt you had hopes of meeting the famous Tyrells. You’re a young girl after all, no doubt stories about the famed Knight of Flowers, the Queen of Thorns and Garlan the Gallant have made you curious to meet more members of the house. And I am sorry you could not stay longer with Lady Alerie, or see a lot of Lord Willas. But this is the way it is with important noble families, they are too busy to pay attention to the small people and are rarely at home.”_

It was a good thing no one had returned, and a good thing no one gave her any attention. He’d hoped that by telling her the Tyrells had been willing to frame her for the murder of king Joffrey, she’d hate them enough to forget her foolish dreams of wanting to marry Willas Tyrell. And until now, that appeared to be the case, she didn’t write fondly about them. In fact, she barely appeared to be speaking with him at all, and Alerie was gone. It was likely her status as a bastard meant they didn’t give her two seconds of their attention. Good. He was fairly confident Sansa knew she depended entirely on Baelish and could thus not go against his wishes. Besides she was to meek and stupid to develop political plans of her own. Back in King’s Landing she was punished for every thought she had, hopefully the beatings had beaten every ounce of wilfulness and defiance out of her. Besides, Sansa Stark was a traitor of the crown and the Tyrells were the crown, they wouldn’t want her. He was glad neither the Tyrells nor she would seek out the other and ruin his plans.

It was the only good thing that had come out of Joffrey’s wedding. How lucky he was that Sansa had jumped to the wrong conclusions.

Baelish had been eager to give Olenna Tyrell a subtle slow working poison in exchange for food from Highgarden during winter. It would make him the saviour of the Vale and his smallfolk around Harrenhal if he could keep them fed through winter, and getting rations from Highgarden helped guarantee it. It also helped to make the Tyrells see him as a useful ally, and a weak man who couldn’t support his regions himself.

_Let them underestimate me. They didn’t know I used their assassination attempt for my own assassination attempt._

And that’s how Tyrion Lannister ruined his plans a third time. Well, him and Joffrey.

Joffrey’s poison was a powder that sat hidden in a ring Margaery wore. And as Margaery drank from the cup, she could hold her hands around the goblet and insert the powder. She had already consumed the antidote so she would not get poisoned by drinking from it. Meanwhile Sansa, who would sit close to her husband, would wear the Strangler in her hair, and one of Baelish’ servants would pluck an amethyst out of her hair and crumble it over the Imp’s pie when they weren’t looking. Tyrion would slowly choke on his pie, or so it would seem. He was sure there were plenty of occasions when the couple would get distracted at the wedding. And then Tyrion would be dead and Sansa a widow.

Why did the little bastard have to eat Tyrion’s pie? The mix of the two poisons had resulted in an awful and very unsubtle death and a living breathing Tyrion.

He’d planned on having Sansa be a widow for a couple of months, gently disposing of Lysa by making her grow sicker and sicker with some kind of poison, and then picking up Sansa as a sweet uncle when the time was right. Of course, the two broken hearts would mend together and they would marry, or so he would have the minstrels sing.

But no, Tyrion was alive. Sansa was still married. And both were suspected of treason and murder. He was glad he hadn’t left for the Vale yet when it happened. It hadn’t been his plan to take Sansa immediately, but a smart man always finds a way. And it was just his luck she believed Olenna had used her hairnet to kill Joffrey.

_She was just checking whether I was really going to murder Tyrion as I had told them I would. They only wanted to work with me once they knew they could just as easily accuse me of murder as I them._

Having Sansa Stark play his daughter hadn’t been the original plan, but it had suited just fine. She could remain under his care as Alayne, and as Alayne Stone no one would take her away from him. Had she been Sansa, she would have remained in the capital for months where other lords could try and marry her. She belonged only to him now, and depended entirely on him.

A good powerful pawn, and she was completely in his hands, relying on his mercy. She couldn’t move unless he wanted her to. And so he had planned on waiting until news of Tyrion’s death finally came. In the meantime, Alayne could marry Harry the Heir, get a child with him, and then Baelish would find a way to dispose of him and Robin. And then Alayne’s child would be the future Lord of the Vale. There would be no going to Winterfell, but she wouldn’t be able to do anything to stop him even once she did figure that out.

Once the time was right to marry Sansa he would have procured proof that Tyrion alone had killed the king – not true, but proof could easily be forged – and free Sansa up for marriage. Then they would marry, and the Riverland lords would cheer that another Tully reigned over them. Their children would carry the Tully blood that would make their bannermen support them. The united region of the Vale and the Riverlands. With him married to his Cat, an even better, more beautiful version of her. As it should have always been.

_Oh Lord Hoster, if you had a grave you would roll in it knowing I have your title and your redheaded granddaughter, and I will impregnate her with my own offspring. No matter how many times you refused me as a suitor of your daughters, I got them and your kingdom in the end._

But Tyrion wasn’t dead, clearly. No death announcement would come. For the imp had miraculously found his way to other pretenders.

Tyrion Lannister could not re-enter the Seven Kingdoms, on the side of a new king or queen, and ruin all his plans with Sansa. The marriage had to be annulled, dissolved, declared void. Instantly. Luckily, Baelish had a solution.

He’d planned on using it as personal sabotage for the imp should it ever become very necessary. But now he would have to use it as proof to declare the marriage void.

The Lannister’s mistake was thinking everyone had a price. Most did, it’s what had made both the Lannisters and Baelish rich in the first place, but not all. The second mistake had been a rare act of mercy of Tywin Lannister. He’d let the girl live, and sent her to a brothel. And that’s where Baelish had first found her. She’d been shipped to King’s Landing because a lot of the goldcloaks had been Westermen looking for pretty Westerwomen to bed in the brothels. Pretty coins were paid for women with blonde hair, blue eyes and green eyes. Of course, his birds had quickly told him about the reputation of one prostitute who had arrived at a brothel some distance removed from Lannisport. Ashty, and she had a perfectly sweet green eyed daughter of three-and-ten. It did not require a lot of digging to find out her name was Tysha, and when promised enough gold to live in a respectable house with her daughter, she readily told him her tale of woe. Tywin should have had her killed.

And then the septons did still have the marriage in their original register, they had merely destroyed the public record. Some men of faith cared more about faith than the wrath of Tywin Lannister.

_“I do not fear winter. I know the common folk tell all kinds of silly tales about Long Nights and winters in which generations grow up and die. But I do fear of being separated from my sweet daughter for a year or more due to icy rivers and snow covered roads. My dear, I want you back with us before the ninth month. I’ll start making plans and inform you once they are ready._

_* I just heard the most curious tale, no doubt it will soon reach you too. Tyrion Lannister was already married once, to a girl who now works in one of my brothels. Isn’t it curious? The brothel keeper found out and just informed me. I heard the Faith Militant is rising in King’s Landing. They will not be pleased the Lannisters break holy vows as if they were nothing. Poor Sansa Stark, first she lost her family, then she was accused of murder, and now it appears she was dragged through a sham marriage by a bigamist. Did Lord Tyrion believe himself to be a Targaryen prince, marrying two women? The realness of their marriage is not even up for debate, he even has a daughter. *”_

He finished penning his letter to Alayne. The second one in two weeks. He sent her more letters than his father sent him back in the day. But they were short letters, and he wrote them innocently enough, never anything about his plans. He left it on his desk to give it to the maester responsible for the owlery.

He bit a chunk of his apple and overlooked the castle courtyard. Mya Stone was fighting some squire. He’d just tumbled into the inch of snow. If she were more hairy and less skinny, she could have easily passed for a young Robert. 

‘My lord, my lord’, the maester cried as he walked into Petyr’s solar.

‘Yes?’

‘A raven my lord, from Riverrun.’

‘Riverrun? Not King’s Landing?’

‘No my lord.’

He’d expected a letter about Cersei’s trial, it was the third day of the seventh month after all. He was curious to know what had happened during it.

He waited until the maester left his chamber before inspecting the letters. The seal did not appear to be broken.

What could have happened?

Daven Lannister married his Frey bride on the first of the seventh month, that he knew. The Freys had been fearful that if they let Daven go west to wage war on the ironborn, he would fall in love and betray his vow like Robb Stark. So he had to marry first before he was allowed to leave Riverun. Baelish had been invited as Lord of Harrenhal, but had politely declined.

Was the letter just going to inform him the wedding had taken place?

A chill came over him when he read the short letter.

_“Lord Baelish,_

_I write to you from Stone Hedge. It was the closest rookery I could find from where letters could be send to the Gates of Moon. I am sorry to write so late, it is near the end of the day after, but we can no longer travel at night. A wolf packs stalks the lands and kills many people._

_I have heard that during the bedding ceremony, the Brotherhood Without Banners snuck into Riverrun. They pulled up the bridge and let the gates down. The castle was locked from the inside. It is reported people could hear screams all through the night and morning. Some Freys managed to escape early, but most are believed dead._

_The castle is still locked, no one knows what has happened. But they say Lady Catelyn’s ghost has come to exact revenge for the Red Wedding._

_Your humble servant, R.”_

Even more dead Freys? Freys had been dying all over the Riverlands lately, even having been found hanging from ropes. 

The ghost of Catelyn Stark?

He was too stupefied to even consider the irony of the Freys being killed during a wedding, too baffled to think about a funny quip about ‘the gods coming to get those who insulted the ancient customs of the guest right’.

If the message was true, inconceivable as it was it would be hard to be mistaken about a a locked castle and screaming voices, the whole Frey line of succession was in question.

And Riverrun!

If all Freys in Riverrun were dead, and he was Lord Paramount of the Trident, he could possibly claim Riverrun.

But if the Freys were dead, so could Roslin’s child. He doubted Walder had let her go. She'd become pregnant within a moon's turn. She had to be at least six moons along.

But he was getting ahead of himself.

Walder yet lived, and there were always Freys who stayed behind in the Twins. Mostly the direct heirs, especially once some of the original top heirs had died. And many of the elderly and very young Freys still hid away like rats in that castle.

Freys dead and divided, scattered in the riverlands, fleeing like rats from an overflowing sewer. Where would they go? What would they do? How would Walder Frey react?

Could all at Riverrun be dead? Emmon? Joanna? Daven? And gods know who else? Daven was also one of the few remaining important Lannisters.

The war had caused bands of angry men to spring into existence. Angry lords, hedgeknights and peasants had been gathering and going rogue ever since the War of the Five Kings first started. But how did they manage to take hold of a castle like Riverrun? There were knights, warriors and guards. How did they get in? How did they take everyone by surprise?

It couldn’t be. It just couldn’t be. They had no resources, and probably no trained men. This smelled like revenge.

Catelyn’s ghost they said. Ghosts did not kill.

But he had heard about Lady Maege, Lord Glover and Howland Reed moving in the riverlands , around the neck. What were three northern nobles doing there? Could they have been rallying troupes, plotting revenge?

Could they have installed turncloaks in Riverrun who let their soldiers in?

Was there a northern conspiracy?

Had they taken a page from the handbook of Garlan Tyrell and have someone dressing up as Cat?

Baelish ran towards his map with the family trees of all noble houses. He knew most by heart, but ah well, with the Freys there was a lot to keep track of. Eight wives. The eighth was even pregnant, if he recalled correctly, Joyeuse.

His eyes chased across the chart. It was futile. twenty-two trueborn sons and seven trueborn daughters from his marriages, and at least three times as many grandchildren. And that was not counting the bastards. But until he knew who died, it had little use.

Going over Walder’s marriages, Baelish mused that most surviving Freys would call upon their mother’s families to support them and send soldiers to avenge them. If they wanted to fight for Riverrun, that was. And of course, there would be families looking to avenge their murdered kin.

_A bunch of dead Freys and Lannisters in Riverrun, just as King’s Landing thought the situation in the riverlands was finally resolved.. This is going to be fun to watch._

But his smile faded when he read the name of Perra Royce.

Royce.

He remembered well how Lord Royce had hoped to marry Lysa before he did. And how Royce was still trying to marry his daughter to Hardyng. The man was ambitious. Baelish regarded the list of Royce-Frey spawns. Emmon Frey, the owner of Riverrun. And Aenys and Steffon, both men were supposed to have inherited the twins, and both had died. If their children survived, or even if they didn’t… Would they try and claim Riverrun?

They had men, they had money.

He quickly leafed through the pages. What other Vale lords were connected to the Freys? He searched through Walder’s marriages, the marriages of his children, and his grandchildren.

Oh no.

There it was, the bride. Fair Walda, daughter of Deana Hardyng. Harold Hardyn’s aunt.

The family of the current owner of Riverrun and the family of the bride.

If Harold Hardyng wanted to go and avenge his kin, and he had no doubt the green arrogant tourney knight did, who better to team up with than another Vale family who had something to gain from the disaster?

They had even more motive to marry now.

His plans, his precious plans.

Why was it always weddings ruining his plans?

Cat’s wedding. Tyrion’s wedding. Joffrey’s wedding. And now this.

Not again.

Baelish ran to his desk and took back his letter. He was glad he hadn't sealed it yet.

_“Alayne. You are coming home as soon as possible. I start arranging it. I just heard something about a river carrying some ice formations. I can’t bear to be parted from you, the thought of you being unable to sail back to me is devastating._

_Petyr Baelish_

_Lord Paramount of the Trident,_

_Lord of Harrenhal_

_Lord Protector of the Eyrie and the Vale of Arryn”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is going to be a long note:  
> 1) When Tywin said “Wherever whores go” it was just Tywin being Tywin. He saw no need to punish the girl further, but where does a girl with no father left go when she’s been gang raped? A brothel.  
> 2) The wine during Joffrey’s death scene is described as purple, and the strangler is supposed to turn the wine purple. The Strangler was missing from Pycelle’s cabinet and it’s known that Sansa’s hairnet carried it. But also: some wines do look purple, especially in goblets. Joffrey’s wine is described as both red and purple depending on the light. I’m going with a slightly less popular theory. First that the Strangler wasn’t in the wine, it was in the pie. Secondly, it wasn’t Joffrey who was meant to consume the Strangler, it was Tyrion.  
> We saw the Strangler being used once before in wine, but far more people choke on food than they do on wine. If you want to make it look like an accident, you put it on food. If the person was just drinking wine while not eating and suddenly started choking, people would suspect poison.  
> 3) Joffrey's food and drink couldn't be laced with Strangler because Cressen died way faster than Joffrey did when he was poisoned. Joffrey still had time to flaunt around, taunt his uncle, eat his pie… However he immediately choked after eating Tyrion’s pie.  
> 4) Baelish only explained the plan after Sansa told what had happened. Baelish lies all the time. If he’s kidnapping Sansa, it makes sense he wouldn’t tell her it was supposed to have been her husband, that would make Baelish look like a predator instead of a hero and she wouldn’t be as cooperative to go with him.  
> 5) Sansa married Tyrion because Dontos told Baelish about the Willas plot. Baelish needed Sansa so he didn't want her marrying Willas or Tyrion. That’s why he tried to kill Tyrion. Baelish telling Sansa the Tyrells used her is his way of ensuring she won't run to them.
> 
> 6) Baelish-Tyrell poison scheme: The plan Baelish tells Sansa is flawed. Foolish dontos giving the net, Sansa having to wear it, Olenna fetching an amethyst and doing the poisoning ... Olenna is not immediately seated next to Joffrey. Those seats are Mace, Garlan and Leonette, Cersei, Jaime. All eyes are on that table. People would notice. And it’s also not exactly Tyrell fashion to have a king die on his wedding, they’d go for something more subtle. The only person who could get a hold of the chalice would be Margaery. Nobody would believe Margaery poisoned the cup she herself was supposed to drink from. This is also the argument Mace Tyrell uses during Tyrion’s trial to prove Margaery's innocence "if it was in the cup, my daughter could have died".  
> 7) Tyrion sat next to the person with Strangler in her hair. It would take no effort for anyone to find a moment someone wasn’t paying attention to Tyrion and Sansa, and crumble it over Tyrion’s pie. Tyrion and Sansa are both quite absent minded during the wedding afer all.  
> 8) I believe Littlefinger tried to push the Tyrells to consider murder by having them fear for Margaery's life. It’s confirmed in the books that he did that. But why would the Tyrells not just do it on their own, why have someone as unreliable as Littlefinger involved? In my opinion a murder deal only works when both teams got dirt on each other. If Littlefinger introduced the option of murder and fetched the poison, he is complicit. It would also ensure that no one ever heard about a Tyrell servant buying or stealing poison. But how make sure Littlefinger doesn’t talk? Well, because he told them (I figure it’s Olenna) that he was going to poison Tyrion. That way both were committing a murder. So if either Littlefinger or Olenna betrayed the other, they could take revenge. To sweeten the deal Littlefinger would get rewarded by House Tyrell, they always use their resources as a bargaining chip (we know Baelish is busy with stocks from WoW chapter).  
> To Littlefinger there are no downs to the plan. The Tyrells don’t know about his interest in Sansa, so they might think the two don’t get along or that Littlefinger wants his old post back. He gets a widowed Sansa. And an easily influenced child instead of Joff as king. A throne that's going to stay in debt... But then the plan flopped. Baelish’ failed plot means he has huge power of the Tyrells, and thus king Tommen, because they don’t have any dirt on him but he has on them. Making him one of the most influential men in Westeros. The Tyrells have to comply with his wishes. The Tyrells have full reign over Tommen and the council, so really, Littlefinger is doing great. And if the Lannisters were to fall, he could easily claim involvement in the murder plot of Joffrey, thus showing he wasn’t loyal and would be willing to support another king.
> 
> 9) Daven is going to marry a frey, makes sense to do it in the home of Gemma Lannister. I believe Tom Sevenstrings will let BWB in.


	12. Becoming a player

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all, I uploaded a wrong version of this chapter by accident yesterday and found out about it three hours late. I'm very ashamed of it, it took me a day to recover. Here's the right version.

_**Back to Alayne POV** _

Winter was not off to a great start.

_I don’t want to go home. I don’t._

Littlefinger’s letter had thrown her off guard from the second she received it. Her brain had fired a thousand questions since she first read it that morning. It occupied her so much she knew she could not be amongst people without worrying them, especially Amaryllis, so she’d gone outside for a walk through the gardens to sort through her thoughts. It was dry weather anyways, the first dry day in three days.

As of yet, she had no answers for all her questions.

She had known her return to the Vale was inevitable, but she had not expected to be called back so suddenly.

What was his motive for calling her back with haste? It could not be winter.

What about Ser Shadrich?

Why free Sansa up for marriage? And how long had he known a way to dissolve her marriage? Why had he not made Tyrion’s marriage known before?

She wondered if her return and Sansa Stark’s annulled marriage were connected.

Did he plan for Harold Hardyng to marry Sansa Stark quickly?

If she came out as Sansa Stark, he would marry all he baggage that came with her. She was the heir of the king in the North, Edmure Tully’s heir until a child was born and a traitor of the crown.

Why did Baelish belief the heir to the Vale would ever take Winterfell for her? The Boltons were given Winterfell by royal decree. Taking Winterfell would cause a war with King’s Landing. And King Stannis was also still walking around in the North. Who would marry her, let alone take Winterfell for her.

_Littlefinger made it sound so easy. But it’s not. Actually it seems quite impossible._

Some days, she really couldn’t see how Sansa Stark would ever be free. Even if she got back Winterfell, it would take years to repair the North and drive out Stannis’ forces. And she had to hope Harry would become faithful to her, honourable, and kind.

_I am playing along with Littlefinger because of a promise that seems impossible to realize. Is there no way I can ever be at home and be happy again?_

She wondered how Littlefinger thought it was possible. She could not see a solution herself.

She broke free from the path she had been walking on, and bent over to smell the flowers. All the bushes still stood, but there weren’t as many flowers on them anymore as when she’d first arrived. Soon there would be none, if the temperature continued to drop and the rain kept on coming.

She went over the letter again in her head. She didn’t want to return, but what could she do if Littlefinger held the key to her freedom and her home?

 _How would Willas and Littlefinger take this news? What would they make of it?_ She wondered.

She realized they would see it as a move on a game board. Made with a certain goal in mind.

She was the pawn that was being moved, but towards what?

The older she became, the more she hated the game, and her own position as a pawn.

She wanted to be a player, at least in regards to her own fate.

She didn’t feel like she had the power to make a move herself, but what had Willas told her on one of the first nights? She could wield power through others. But what others and how?

And Lord Baelish had told her knowledge was power.

First, she had to try and find out why Littlefinger wanted her back in the Vale. Secondly, if she ever wanted to control her own fate, she would have to find a way to act.

Could she break free from Littlefinger and still become Sansa Stark? Or at least be happy?

She had to speak about it with someone.

She rose with determination. There was someone who at least knew the struggle of being a bastard and having to follow the wishes of a noble father. That was a starting point.

‘Amaryllis, may I ask you a question about your father?’

‘Sure’, the older girl answered.

‘How would you describe the bond between you and your father?’

‘Polite. He and my mother regularly slept together, even after I was born. So I saw him every now and then. But we never lived with him. He did provide my mother with money so she could care for me though. Haven’t seen him in the last decade though, he married and moved to the most northern part of the Reach.’

‘Would you say you felt a kind of kinship with your father, and gratitude for what he has done for you?’

‘I guess you could say that, yes. I’m a bastard, he could have easily ignored me so I am grateful’, Amaryllis answered, but her eyes were growing more critical.

‘Did he ever ask you to do something you didn’t want to do?’

‘Why, what does your father want?’

‘Could you answer first, please Amaryllis?’ Alayne begged.

‘Fine’, the girl said as she rolled her eyes. ‘He did.’

‘And how did you deal with it? Did you do it out of a feeling of gratefulness and kinship?

‘He intended for me to become a septa. He was really pushing me towards it. He wanted to install me as an in-house septa to some nobles so the Hightowers would have eyes and ears there’, Amaryllis explained.

‘So you didn’t do what your father wanted you to do. You’re here’, Alayne said in amazement.

‘He let me choose between becoming a servant or a septa. He really wanted me to choose the latter, but I just knew I could never be happy as a septa. I disappointed him with my choice, but I mean, he still allowed me to become a servant as well. A life full of duty and without love wasn’t for me.’

‘I understand’, laughed Alayne.

‘I’m sure you do. You escaped right on time, my friend. Celibacy’s boring’, Amaryllis smirked.

Alayne rolled her eyes.

‘Right now I haven’t made much of my life yet. But I have a lot more choices than I would have had as a septa. And a lot more fun too. I can get married, I can try and do other jobs as well should I want. It’s scary, but I’ll work it out.’

‘Were you not afraid he would take it badly?’

‘Yes, I was. I feared he’d pull his support. But I find being poor isn’t the worst thing in the world, feeling like you have no choices is. As a septa in a lord’s house I’d have luxury, but I’d feel unfree and alone. Is material comfort really worth that?’

Her words resonated with Alayne’s soul. She felt like a boat without sails, thrown in every direction the current wanted her to go.

‘Now tell me why you are asking all these questions’, Amaryllis demanded.

‘My father sent me a letter in which he states that he wants me to return home, and is actively trying to arrange it as soon as possible.’

‘Awh, grown attached to us? Want to stay?’ Amaryllis smiled.

‘Kind of?’ Alayne admitted, her voice carrying a hint of disbelief.

‘I can hardly refuse my father though. I depend entirely upon him. It’s sad, because I really feel like I am useful here… And perhaps I do like you all’, Alayne said carefully.

‘I wish you could stay. But I’d understand if you wouldn’t. I know my situation isn’t yours. I have a mother to fall back on should my father cast me aside. And I’ve been saving money for years.’

Alayne nodded.

So she couldn’t go against Littlefinger’s wishes unless she had someone else supporting her, or a job.

‘Do you feel like you could be happy with the life your father is giving you? And the plans he is making for you?’ Amaryllis questioned, hoping to find something positive for Alayne to focus on despite her sadness at having to leave.

‘I’ve often wondered’, Alayne admitted truthfully. ‘He has a lot of plans for me.’

Amaryllis rolled her eyes and laughed. ‘Of course, it’s Lord Baelish.’

‘I am flattered he gives so much thought to my future. If I return I know I will want for nothing, but I wonder if I will be happy. Or free.’

After all, she knew material comfort did not bring happiness.

Even if Littlefinger gave her back Winterfell, would she be happy?

_There is no reason why Harry the Heir can’t ignore me, sleep with other women, and treat me cruelly once we are married. Indeed, he is nothing but vain, arrogant and mean. He is nothing like the kind of man my father wanted for me._

‘Personally I can’t help you Alayne. I can’t give you money or support you financially. And indeed, you got your position because Lord Baelish sent you here… But everyone here has seen your talent, skill, intelligence and diligence. You could find work here. It would be hard at first, but if you really you could be happier here than you’d be with your father’s plans, I’m sure you could do it.’

‘I feel like a bad and ungrateful daughter for even considering it. He did so much for me.’

The girls took a pause and put down their buckets full of seeds. Alayne shook her hands in an attempt to get rid of the cramped feeling. There were blisters on her hands from working so much the past couple of days. She wasn’t used to physical labour.’

‘Yes. But should you stay with him solely out of gratitude? It’s your life, Alayne, live it. The seven know life is preciously short these days, you don’t want to waste it living for others while hating every minute of it.’

‘What choice do I have? I have no money. And who would help me get a job?’

‘Oh plenty of people. People love you. And of course, there is always another way you could stay’, Amaryllis said, her voice going up as she started grinning at Alayne.

‘How?

‘Either you get a job… Or’, she said, hanging long on the final letter.

Alayne already knew what was coming and picked up the buckets of seeds and started walking.

‘You find someone who wants to support you. A certain someone certainly seemed fond of you during the solstice.’

‘I will not listen to this, you’re making things up.’

‘Am I?’

‘The idea that we would… Why, it’s as possible as dragons and unicorns’, Alayne brought out, feeling very flustered. She felt as if in that instant

‘Alayne, you know there’s talk of a dragon queen across the sea, right?’, Amaryllis cried as she picked up her belongings and raced after Alayne.

Alayne rolled her eyes again. She was certain that her eyes would soon roll out their sockets.

‘You’re impossible.’

‘As impossible as dragons’, she quipped.

‘But seriously, you know how I feel about it. Bag him if you can girl, you’ll go straight to being as free and carefree as anyone can be.’

‘I doubt the lady wife of the future heir to Highgarden is carefree.’

‘What more cares will you have that you are not already taking onto your shoulders willingly? Except providing him with some heirs’, Amaryllis added slyly.

‘Oh I won’t respond to such nonsense.’

‘You know I’m right. And he must be fond of you if he has you around that much.’

‘Or he finds me useful to have around.’

‘All the more reason for him to take you as his lover… or better.’

‘Please Amaryllis, stop it, for your lord’s sake as much as mine. Nothing good can come of such gossip. Should anyone overhear us, they’ll believe I’ve come to ensnare him in a Petyr Baelish plot. I don’t want to ruin our… our… _working relationship_ that way.’

‘Is that what you call it?’

At that instant she could feel her cheeks heat up and lips burn where Willas had kissed them.

She thought back on their more than friendly conversation over a game of cyvasse the night before, and the way he’d held her as they’d watched the stars four days earlier.

_I wish it could be more. But it can’t. Our paths cross right now, but they don’t align._

‘Please?’ Alayne begged.

Noticing the pain in Alayne’s voice, Amaryllis quit. Even though the pained voice only confirmed what Alayne wouldn’t admit.

They entered the castle gardens through the main gate.

In front of them loomed the newly built structure that would soon be finished.

The great glass and stone creation they were heading towards stood at the back of the kitchen garden. It was as large as the great hall. Willas had spared no expense, and decided that if a greenhouse had to be built, it would be better to have a big one with space to spare, than a small one that could not supply them.

He had an architect design a gorgeous piece that seamlessly blended in with the architecture of Highgarden.

‘I can’t believe how quickly they’re building that’, Amaryllis whistled.

The front looked like the entrance of a sept, and had been built quickly. The sides were decorated with tall marble columns on the sides. Between the columns were tall and broad windows. The walls were not finished yet, but she knew the tops of the window walls would be filled with glass-in-lead scenes of spring and harvest.

A promise to all those admiring the greenhouse that one day the sun would rise again and Highgarden would bloom anew.

Alayne nodded and skipped up the four steps towards the heavy oaken door carved with fruit trees. She kept open the door for Amaryllis.

‘It will soon be finished’, Alayne smiled.

Only half of the glass roof was finished, but Alayne had no doubt it would be finished before the end of the week. Willas had people working on it the entire day.

Five other women were inside the greenhouse when they entered, all tending to the fruit trees and greens that were already planted.

Alayne and Amaryllis moved over to the perch in the back that was reserved for zucchinis and pumpkins.

‘It does look gorgeous, inside and out. You have something like this in the Eyrie?’

‘No. In winter it becomes too cold for people to live there, the court moves back to the Gates of Moon then. Perhaps they have a greenhouse there, but I was only around for a couple of days before I left and didn’t see it.’

Amaryllis nodded slowly.

She and Amaryllis planted their seeds and watered the patches of soil that stood underneath the part of the finished roof.

She noticed two elderly female farmers who had enlisted to help with the greenhouse were talking in hushed voices. They were obviously having a discussion.

Alayne wondered whether it concerned the greenhouse, since Willas had made it her responsibility.

‘Is everything alright?’ Alayne asked as she approached them.

‘Quite alright, Lady Stone. It is only that these seeds cannot stand too much rain. They must be kept in relatively dry soil.’

The elderly woman with hair as grey as the clouds looked at the tiny seeds in her hands with a sad face.

_She must be scared. Winter was the time when people her age died._

‘The roof will be finished in about a day or two, I believe. Can they survive the rain that long, or not?’

‘Rather not, milady. The soil is drenched, and will be for a while still. But these seeds also need heat and dryness to grow. And I would have them planted as soon as possible, they’re slow growers.’

‘Is there any way we can plant them today then? Without putting them in the ground where they were intended?’ Alayne asked.

‘They were supposed to be planted here’, the lady sighed.

‘But let’s ignore that. How could they survive, according to you? Do you… have an idea… how we could do that? I know too little about the matter.’

The woman looked at her in wonder, clearly surprised the person in charge was asking her for her opinion.

‘You’re asking my advice?’

‘You are the one with the most knowledge and experiences in regards to growing crops’, Alayne said sweetly, turning her head down.

‘I well… Back in spring when the weather was uncertain, we planted them in a box with dry soil and put another box over it, to shield it from rain and cold weather. Here I suppose planting them in dry soil underneath the finished part of the roof, and close by the fireplace I see they are installing, would ensure that they grow. Since that soil will be driest and warmest.’

Alayne nodded.

‘There are still some lots free over there. And we have some wooden boxes with relatively dry soil. Perhaps we could plant them in those boxes first, and put those boxes on the lots. And once the structure is finished, the soil will be dry there, and you could plant them. Would that do?’

‘Oh, oh yes my lady. Is that alright?’ the old woman asked as she slipped the seeds in her apron.

‘Living plants are always alright. There is no use in commanding you to plant them here, if they cannot grow here. Wasted seeds are a wasted lot. That defies the purpose, does it not? Thank you for informing me. I did not know and would be very sad if they had gone to waste because you followed my ill-advised plan,’ she smiled.

The architect had given her a ground plan with all the plots he had planned between the walking paths. Some parts of the greenhouse were more fit for certain plants than for others. The patches of soil near the window sides of the greenhouse were for the plants that could bear the lowest temperatures. Because she did not know a lot about what each plant needed, she had a council of farmers advise her further. But they had not taken into account that the seeds would be planted underneath a rainy sky. The front and backsides had fireplaces installed and were warmest. And in the middle of the greenhouse would come to be a pond, from where the water could be fetched. Rivers and outside wells could freeze, inside the water would stay a good temperature. That way they could always water the plants, without having to walk far or melt ice first. It also helped with the air humidity inside.

‘Oh my lady. I knew you’d be good for us! I remember acquaintances of mine disapproving of your participation in the contest as they wondered what a foreigner and a bastard was doing in a celebration of our culture. But I said: “let the gods choose” and they chose you. And it is clear you could be send by none other than the gods. You blessed us during the solstice. It was known Lord Willas would be unable to do his duties. We had already expected it and resigned ourselves to being cursed. But you saved us by saving him. You blessed our harvest and now you are continuing to bless and save us in winter with a harvest that never ends. Oh bless you, maiden. You are too good. Our ruling house is too busy playing the game of thrones to look after us, so the gods sent you to protect us’, the woman said passionately as she took Alayne’s hands.

Alayne was too baffled to speak at first.

_It was all coincidence and (bad) luck that I ended up here and became the maiden during solstice. It wasn’t a god._

Like a leaf in the wind she was blown from place to place without being able to resist the wind.

First she had intended to marry Joffrey. Then it was planned she married Willas. Then it was ruined and she married Tyrion instead. And then even that was ruined and she ended up in the Vale, where Baelish planned for her to marry Harrold Hardyng. Yet here she was in Highgarden. Could the gods have saved her from Joffrey? And were they now trying to fix the past and get her back where she was supposed to end up?

‘Lord Willas cares for you all. Just look how much he is willing to invest into the welfare of the people of the Reach’, she stammered.

‘I only saw him do something once you appeared’, the women said in a decided manner.

‘He had been planning for winter since long before my arrival.’

‘Do not downplay your own involvement, my lady. You’ve done hard work, while you had no reason to help us. These lords are supposed to protect us. You did it out of the goodwill of your heart. You are a true godsent beacon of selflessness. If our lord has any brains, he keeps you. There, I said what I said. My granddaughter could learn a thing or two from you’, the old woman decided.

The woman patted Alayne’s hands before walking over to the other end of the greenhouse.

Amaryllis twirled in front of her, a big grin on her face.

‘Impossible hm? Well, at least I have company in fool town’, the girl said slyly.

Alayne shook her head.

‘You’re both being blind to reality.’

‘Are we now? You know the songs.’

‘Songs are for children’, Alayne decided before turning around to hide her glowing cheeks. Her heart was beating wildly. She could not let these fancies go to her head. So absorbed was she in pretending to inspect a patch for signs of growing seedlings that she did not hear the sound of footsteps and a cane on the tiles behind her.

‘Lady Alayne, are you available?’

‘Depends’, Alayne answered crossly before looking over her shoulder.

The future heir of Highgarden was frowning in apprehension. She blushed and quickly stumbled upright.

‘Oh, my lord. I apologize, please forgive me my insolence. I did not know it was you.’

Willas gave a curt nod before turning towards Amaryllis.

‘How are things going around here, miss Flowers?’

‘Good my lord. We’re working as hard and fast as we can. Alayne manages to make us all most productive. At this pace, we’ll be looking for new tasks next week’, Amaryllis explained as she curtsied deeply.

‘I’m glad to hear. This is important work’, he decided before turning back towards Alayne.

‘Lady Alayne, I realized today I had not yet shown you the horse I had gifted you on Solstice Day. I was just on my way towards the stables, it’s convenient to me should I be able to show you now. Can you join me?’

‘I-‘ Alayne started.

‘We’re almost done for today, my lord. And we can well finish on our own, my lord’, Amaryllis answered politely.

‘Amaryllis – ‘ Alayne started.

‘Really, we can manage Alayne. You are very sweet for putting in so much effort but we know what to do. If our lord requires you, you should go’, Amaryllis answered dutifully.

Alayne quietly followed Willas outside. Their present arrangement had now been in place for a week. She thoroughly enjoyed his company, but she was still at loss at how to navigate their interactions. Her septa had prepared her for many social situations, but not this one.

She did not know how to switch from being distant to being close. Nor did she know the boundaries of there relationship. It was something they both struggled with. They’d have a serious discussion about politics one minute, but then wanted the comfort of each other’s arms the next, but knew not how to go about it to make it appear smooth.

It was Willas who found a way to bridge the awkward silence between them now.

‘How have you been today?’

‘Fine. Everything is going according to schedule’, Alayne answered politely as she came to walk beside him.

‘What have you done today, my lord?’

He let out a deep sigh as if the memory itself was tiring before he looked at her and smiled.

‘I had hoped Winter would bring quieter times, where we could focus on our own lands. But the rookery is absolutely flooded with ravens. I spent the entire morning and most of the afternoon answering letters and processing information. Then I came and checked my hawks, the young hounds, and now I’m about to check in on the horses. I’ve been neglecting them all the past month.’

‘Not too much trouble, I hope?’ Alayne asked.

‘News is never good. Some of it is not directly bad, but none of it is ever good.’

‘I’m sorry to hear. Has this news been bad to you personally?’

Willas did not answer directly, instead he lifted his head and put on a smile as he entered the stables. The stable was mostly empty. There were only two people walking around in them except for them. Willas greeted the hands jovially.

‘Ah Cerran, how is she today?’ Willas asked as he came up to a private stall where a mare and a small foal were tied with a loose rope.

‘Very well, m’lord, just brought’ee and the lil’ one back from the pasture. Them been out all day enjoying the dry weather. Brushed ‘em clean and fed them. Ready for the night, m’lord’, the man answered.

Alayne inched closer, though not daring to enter the private space where the man stood with a horse brush. The tiny one was as white as snow even though it was named Spring. It had lovely thick manes, pointy ears, sweet expressive eyes and a long broad neck and deep chest. Though the filly was a perfect white, its mother was a light caramel colour with a white mane. They were truly a stunning pair.

Her brother Robb had a white horse once, but it had been flecked with grey and did not look as noble.

‘Very well, thank you. They are all done?’ Willas asked, nodding his chin at all the other adult horses that stood freely in their part of the stable.

‘Yes m’lord.’

‘Very well. Then you and – is that Garson? – can leave us. I want the new rider and the young horse to connect peacefully.’

‘Yes m’lord. Certainly m’lord’, the man nodded before clumsily bowing. He took the other man with him as he exited the stable.

‘Alright’, Willas said, motioning for her to get closer with his cane as he entered the wooden half-open box.

‘What do you think?’

‘She’s stunning’, Alayne admitted as she inched closer.

Willas was petting the mare, and so she felt confident to approach the filly.

‘I don’t believe I’ve ever seen anything like it.’

Spring bobbed her head and seemed to gaze into Alayne’s soul with her hawk eyes.

‘You haven’t. She’s a second generation crossbread courser of my own making. The mother is the first, crossed an ancient native race to the Reach with a Thoroughbred stallion. Both courser horses, great for combat, jousting and fox hunting, and able to go long distances as well.’

Alayne nodded as she gently held her hand up to the little one. It sought her out, and she could lay her hand on it briefly.

‘Ah, you know what? She’s already had a training session today, but it’s better to get her used to your touch.’

Willas untied the foal and slowly stepped out of the box with her so he wouldn’t strain his leg.

‘Could you take that little stool over there?’

Alayne did as he ordered, and placed it down near him. He sat down gratefully, and drew the horse closer and closer. Alayne noticed it started struggling more.

‘She feels cornered. They don’t like that. But the sooner she gets used to it the better. One day, she’ll get horse shoes and then she’ll have to be handled by multiple people. If we’re gentle and make holding them a positive experience during which they can relax, they’ll trust us and be less apprehensive when we do it the next time.’

‘I guess.’

‘I’m boring you with my explanations, aren’t I?’

‘No, it’s nice to know why we are doing this. It’s just all new to me. Horses were just something I rode. I never paid attention to how they were raised’, she admitted.

‘Most don’t. I believe the only ones that are really involved in the raising of their horses, are knights that have the means to purchase young warhorses. Most warhorses are temperamental. Especially the destiers. A good rider takes the time to grow a bond with their horse.’

‘I guess I don’t know war horses. I only ever saw such beasts during tourneys’, she lied. Father, Jon, Robb and Theon had ridden coursers.

‘You can pet her now, nice long soothing strokes’, Willas instructed as he held Spring’s sides.

Alayne complied.

‘She looks very pretty.’

‘Thank you. They said it was very rare for a horse of this breed, both breeds actually, to be white. So naturally, I took on the challenge.’

‘Don’t you think it’s funny that you named a snow white horse Spring?’ Alayne asked with a teasing smile.

Willas let out a laugh.

‘Suppose so. But I felt it would be wrong to name her otherwise. Let’s hope that by the time she’s mature, winter will be over and spring has begun. What a sign would it be if the first horse leaving these gates to spread the message that spring has returned, is called Spring?’

‘You gifted her to me though, do you want me to spread the message of spring?’ Alayne teased

Willas frowned, as if he had only now realized the clash.

‘Ah, right. Well, you could. The maiden bringing the word of spring. Sounds like a fine song.’

‘My lord, if you want me to spread the message of spring together with Spring, both of us will still have to be here by then. Am I to understand you don’t want me gone before winter has come to pass?’ Alayne teased, though she was indeed very curious for his answer.

‘I admit I have not thought it through properly. You are only here temporarily, and the horse will have to go back to the Vale with you. I guess all my plans for her were kind of made while thinking of you as part of our permanent household’, he admitted awkwardly.

‘So you’d want me to stay?’

‘If I were making the decision I would… And that doesn’t even have to do with us. You’re a useful part of the household Alayne. And the others seem fond of you as well’, he answered honestly. He did not look at her. As a matter of fact he kept his eyes fixed on the small horse, but he did not need to look at her to affect her.

Indeed it was the air itself within the stable that seemed to be charged with tension.

Her heart fluttered as she too kept her eyes fixed on the horse, tenderly stroking from the horse’s jaw down the neck.

Perhaps now would be a good time to ask whether he’d take her on even when Lord Baelish wasn’t asking for it, she mused.

But the choice was taken away from her as Willas continued. Willas looked proudly at the horse, before his eyes darted over to hers, he had retrieved his confidence and easily guided the conversation back to a safer topic.

‘She’s got the docile temperament and intelligence from the mother and she’s got the agility and speed from the father. Both her mother and father are from a line of fine learners and faithful beasts. On her father’s side there’s a bold spirited temper. And – ’

As he noticed the growing smile on her face, he couldn’t help but laugh and break off his explanation on how he’d bread this specific horse.

‘I’m doing it again, aren’t I?’

‘Yes’, Alayne admitted with a laugh.

‘Garlan once said I could bore a maester to death, and Loras said I could preach about a topic longer than a septon.’

‘I only smile because I understand so little while you appear to know so much about it.’

Her eyes glided over the boxes filled with magnificent dark brown, russet, white and black horses. Yet, for one of the most renowned breeders of the realm, it appeared to be a very limited amount of horses.

‘How many horses do you have?’

Willas scrunched his face, clearly he did not know the number by heart.

‘I guess somewhere around one hundred and fifty horses. Since the war began, I’ve acquired more sires and dams, especially of the coursers and chargers. Many men die, and just as many horses. Horses are a necessity during a war, you see? When the war first started almost every man had a horse. Now only one in ten has a horse. I started a breeding program because I expected many would be in need of a horse. And I was right. All my horses that were born both before and after the war started were sold as soon as I put them up for purchase. Most of them are still here since they’re still being trained for their purpose, but I expect most will be sent off in six moonturns.’

‘Willas’, Alayne smiled. He sighed and shook his head.

‘I’m sorry.’

Alayne smiled.

She’d hoped to ask her question. But her courage had slipped from her now that Willas had removed them from the topic of Spring.

‘How many horses will remain here? They need space and food I take it. Have we taken care of that in our plans for winter?’

‘Yes, we’ve taken care of the hay and fresh fruit.’

‘Is there going to be enough hay for all of the animals if the winter lasts years? We can’t make more hay.’

Willas shook his head. ‘Probably not. We need a good stable for transport and potential war but I guess if we had to start making choices … Some of these will make a fine horse steak’, he grinned.

Alayne scrunched her face but couldn’t help laughing.

‘I heard you had a fondness for horseflesh.’

‘Did you now? Where did you hear that!’

Alayne turned scarlet at her error.

‘Oh servants, they talked about it in the kitchen prior to the solstice’, she lied.

‘They assumed it was some sort of revenge for your injury.’

‘It was Oberyn who got me hooked onto horsemeat, actually. When I had my accident my horse was injured, stressed and scared . But I was on the ground, in heavy armour, and my foot still hung in the stirrup. She could easily crush even more of me, or drag me along and injure me further.’

Alayne looked over at the row of boxes and blanched. That could happen so easily. She looked back at the rows of horses. They looked so heavy, they could easily crush someone.

Killers, all of them could be killers.

Just like the men who rode them.

‘Oberyn jumped off his horse and called for backup to get me free. He killed her right as they pulled me loose. Served me the meat, so I could take something from the horse after she’d taken something from me. He also prepared her as food because he thought it was inappropriate that he killed my horse. He said: “ _Now you have your horse back. And she is a lot safer to handle. Besides, it would be an awful waste to let her rot._ ” He was absolutely comical’, Willas smiled, drawn back to the past.

‘But you wouldn’t eat this one, would you?’ Alayne asked while she stroked Spring.

‘No. The horses of this stable are never going to end up on a plate. They’re my family’s horses, and my own special breeds.’

Alayne let out a sigh of relief. Though she did now fear one day falling from her horse and being maimed for life, the little one looked too cute and pretty to be eaten.

‘Growing attached, aren’t you?’

‘Everyone loves Spring, my lord’, Alayne joked.

‘So you approve of her name?’

Alayne nodded. The topic had come closer again. She would try to voice her question now.

‘It is a good name. And indeed it would be most clever if she did indeed carry the message of spring once winter has come to pass. I would not like to keep her in the Vale if she could serve such a noble purpose here.’

‘But she is your horse. I cannot keep her from you for what could be years. I have honour, when I promise something I mean it. By the time spring rolls around, you will have long since departed for the Vale. And her with you.’

Alayne stood gracefully, and bent down next to the horse right next to him. She carefully avoided eye contact, instead aiming her full attention on the beast.

She knew she would lose her courage if she looked at him. And she also knew that if she didn’t ask him now, she would never ask him. And if she didn’t ask, she’d be off to the Vale within a matter of weeks.

‘As she is my horse, it is up to me to decide what to do with her. If I want her here, she shall be here. You will make better use of her than I will. Consider it my gift of gratitude, for all the weeks your family took me in… She’d be so lovely, dashing out in the snow between the gorgeous winter roses carrying a message of joy… Perhaps your mother could ride her, she has the most lovely silver hair. It would look lovely if she rode the horse. A Highgarden rose carried on the back of Spring, spreading the word that all will grow again, and stronger than before… I only wish I could be here to see it’, Alayne sighed forlornly.

Willas was quiet for a long while.

‘You would?’ he asked quietly, his voice filled with something she could not describe, but it made her cheeks flush.

‘Of course. The moment I arrived here everyone told me how I should have seen Highgarden in spring and summer, instead of autumn and winter. Even now in winter this is still the most beautiful place I’ve ever seen. I’d _die_ to see Highgarden in spring’, said quietly.

‘But I can’t. If my father calls me back, I will return. I was only here because my father wanted me to be here. I have no reason to stay, I have no purpose here. I’ll be sorry to leave though. And I’ll miss Amaryllis and the other girls so’, she decided sadly.

Deciding that either he picked up on it and asked her to stay now, or would never do it, she rose.

‘Alayne’, he called as his hand shot out to hold her.

Her heart jumped, and she had to fight hard to keep a smile of her face as she turned around.

She tried her best to think of having to leave. Of having to marry Harold. Of being stuck with Lord Baelish and his awful minty breath and stolen kisses. Her joy was quickly replaced with sadness, and she turned around with eyes filled with sorrow.

‘My mother’s original handmaids will remain in King’s Landing. She could still use you when she returns home. We took you in because Lord Baelish wanted us to, but we could employ you permanently, should you want it… And just so you know, you have served many purposes here since your arrival. ’

‘Oh Willas. Thank you! I will be the best lady-in-waiting, you’ll see!’ she cried as she threw her arms around him.

_And now I have made my move, Lord Baelish. I’ve bought myself extra time to find out your reason for wanting me back. And you’ll have to find a good reason to explain to Lord Willas why I can’t stay and work for him._

_You made a mistake when you gave me no official work in the Eyrie, now you can’t say I have a job there for which I am needed. And you won’t tell them your real reasons for wanting me back either. You keep your plans too close to your chest for that.  
_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) The stables are based on the stables of Dunster Castle. Horse stables as we know them present day only took shape in the Victorian era. Willas as a breeder would have better more modern stables than most lords, so this is what I went with. It's not quite medieval, but not overly modern either. I actually don't see Westeros as a medieval place, I always envision it more as something early modern, especially the reach. 
> 
> 2) In the world of aSoIaF horses are not called specific breeds, but are referred to by broad categories like they were in the middle ages. I am a noob about horses so if I managed to describe horses correctly by chance, it’s thanks to this great thread https://www.reddit.com/r/asoiaf/comments/5h9rwe/spoilers_main_horses_and_terminology_in_asoiaf/ and hours of internet search afterwards.  
> Technically the horse type most nobles would use for other purposes than war and jousting would be palfreys, so it would make more sense if Sansa got a palfrey. But since Willas’ family seems very active and fond of horses, I assumed even the Tyrell women would use coursers. Since the Reach is based on France, I figured I could have Willas mash a thoroughbred and a cheval limousine together, an ancient French horse race that’s been linked to nobility and was used for war, hunting and pleasure. 
> 
> I also made a new board full of plot points that have already been brought up, and have yet to be brought up. So if you're curious here is the link: https://growingstronglikeahighgardenrose.tumblr.com/post/626266247472054272/shit-is-going-down-in-bastards-and-broken-things. Shit is definitely going down in this fic :p


	13. Dark wings, dark words

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short one to celebrate the weekend

Night fell over Highgarden. The ravens stopped flying in. The work was laid down and the people returned to their homes. The ever looming threat of continued rainfall came true as the clouds gathered, rumbling for a good two hours before the first flashes lit the evening sky.

Nevertheless, the people of Highgarden were determined to be optimistic. They lit their candles and fireplaces and prepared their meals as they pretended it was merely a dreary autumn day, worries for winter were for the daytime when they could no longer escape it. They desperately clutched onto their happiness and moments of bliss. Alayne and Amaryllis also had no trouble letting go of the winter preparations, and gladly talked about small gossip and silly rumours.

But for the heir of Highgarden, there was no respite. Over two dozen ravens had flown into the owlery aimed to inform the regent of the Reach. And all the news had ranged between strange to mildly terrible. He’d already taken some time off to process everything this afternoon, but tonight Willas had one more heavy meeting with Maester Lomys and his uncle Garth who would depart for King’s Landing the next morning, before his duties were finally at an end.

He had been prepared for his duties since his adolescence. He had studied at the citadel, and sat beside his father for years, first being entrusted with minor inconveniences in Highgarden, then the Reach as a whole. After all, his family had long since made clear that their ambitions to rule, and Willas had been prepared to take over the everyday control. His duties he could bear, but the complete lack of joy and absence of his family members he could not. He’d lost it all too suddenly; his family; his time; and his outlets like his hawks, dogs and horses and reading time. He did not only need a crutch for his body, but a crutch for his mind as well.

The family library was made up entirely of dark wood and marble pillars. A game table and a series of elegant couches and chairs stood around a low broad table that was usually covered with cups of wine and tea and other clutter, but was now empty. Many pleasant nights had been spent in those couches.

Willas hobbled to one of the tall straight backed chairs at the game table and let himself fall down gracelessly, stretching his stiff leg. He rolled his shoulders in an attempt to get the worries off of them, but the strain of stress clung to them. Attempting to yet still lift the weight of his shoulders he shrugged off his justacorps. It was an old thing, from the previous winter. He didn’t need its heavy weight and warm fabric now that he sat so close to the fireplace.

There stood the emerald méridienne where Garlan usually sat with Leonette lying against him, she embroidering as he read. Across of it stood Lady Alerie’s silver and red chair next to his father’s green and golden wing chair covered with Tyrell coat-of-arms embroidery. Willas usually sat on the large green couch where Margaery also reclined on, her legs always slung over the armrest. Loras did not have a fixed spot, he often just lay in front of the fire. As he sat gazing at their empty places, his mind wandered into the past. 

Alayne slipped in not long after him, but by the time she arrived Willas was completely consumed by his thoughts.

‘Does my lord wish for us to play cyvasse tonight?’ Alayne asked with a smile.

‘My lord? Willas?’

At the touch of her hand on his shoulder he came alive once more.

‘We could, yes’, he agreed startled.

Alayne was already lifting her hand to go to the other chair when his hand flashed up and took hold of hers.

‘Is this how you greet me, a cold pat before you go sit so far away from me?’ he jested, feeling he had yet again to overcome the moody impression he had made.

Her surprised eyes softened.

‘What would you like for a proper greeting? Should I curtsy?’

‘Come here, you wicked jester’, he smiled as he tugged on her hand.

‘Ouch.’

The pressure hurt the blisters she’d gained from carrying heavy boxes and buckets towards the greenhouse all week.

‘What is it? Did I hurt you?’

He loosened his hold of her hands, and lifted her hand for closer inspection.

‘Blisters?’ he questioned.

‘It was quite some work to get everything ready in the greenhouse’, Alayne explained shyly.

‘Did you never need to do manual labour before?’ Willas asked.

 _Oh by the Seven!_ Thought Alayne _. I’m so stupid._

Septas cook, clean, scrub, tend to gardens and sew a lot of clothes. How would she talk herself out of this one?

‘I – I did. But it was never as heavy. After all, I still spent most time praying, studying and cooking.’

Before he could answer a crashing thunder interrupted them. Alayne used his distraction to her advantage and quickly bent forward to kiss him.

He looked up in surprise, and she pressed another longer kiss to his lips.

‘You feel very warm’, she noticed as she took her place on the opposite side of the table.

‘I am very warm. It’s that fireplace, it almost scorches my back’, he answered as he tugged on the laces of his doublet.

Alayne tried not to look too much, but it was hard not to look at the expanse of neck that was bared and the peek she got of his tunic. It was only her fear of being discovered that made her rearrange the ivory and jade pieces on her side of the board. She copied a board Willas had once created she found particularly hard to navigate. She took longer to place her pieces, Willas was long done by the time she had finished her set up.

‘Willas, I’m ready.’

‘Ah, yes.’

They did not rush their game, and Willas allowed Alayne plenty of time to deliberate her moves. Or so she thought.

It was only when he made another move and lost his dragon to her trebuchet which he had already encountered with another piece and should have definitely avoided with his dragon, that she knew his head wasn’t in the game.

‘You are distracted.’

‘Forgive me.’

‘It is nothing. May I ask for the reason of your distraction?’ she asked as she made another move, this time with her heavy horse.

‘A lot of news today. My mind is rather occupied with the big game board that is life’, Willas admitted.

‘Anything in particular?’

‘I hardly know where to start’, grimaced Willas.

‘Perhaps chronologically?’ Alayne offered.

He shook his head in tired amusement.

‘Perhaps. Or perhaps I should start with the minor things that don’t surprise or worry me as much.’

‘That is fine too’, Alayne smiled as she rose to retrieve the carafe of wine and cups that had been placed there by a servant before their arrival. She lifted a glass questioningly for Willas. He nodded approvingly.

‘Ramsay Bolton married Arya Stark about a month ago, but the girl hasn’t been seen since; Talks are that Roose Bolton will demand that he is legitimized as a repayment for his loyalty to the crown and that he wants to legitimize his hold on Winterfell by having his bastard produce offspring with Stark blood.. And then of course, Cersei has won her trial’, Willas sighed.

Alayne pushed aside the thought that Roose Bolton would have a pretender – for it could impossibly be her sister, she had been missing for almost two years and was definitely dead –wed his bastard when it was common knowledge Arya Stark was dead and missing. She also wondered why none of the northern lords had protested, for many of them must have surely remembered what Arya Stark looked like. A scrawny brown haired, grey eyed girl who had to be eleven by now, but would still be way too young to be wed.

And she’d have Ramsay Bolton impaled on anything sharp she’d get her hands on within the day. And that clearly hadn’t happened.

Instead she aimed all her shock and anger at the second titbit of news.

‘But she’s guilty!’

‘Yes, I also believe she’s guilty. I think that’s why she chose Trial by Combat. She would not have won a fair trial by faith. And even the trial by combat reeks of foul play. Theodan The True had to fight the newest member of the Kingsguard… Ser Robert Strong. Multiple accounts said he dealt killing blows. At one point his sword went straight into Ser Strong’s chest. But Strong didn’t die, even when he had sustained enough injuries to kill four men. Then he lifted his sword and chopped off Ser Theodan’s head with a clean swoop.’

A chill ran down her arms.

‘Will she get the regency back?’

‘No, my father immediately claimed the regency after Kevan’s death and unless Cersei wants to cause a public scene and create further enmity with my house, she can’t claim it back.’

‘Then there’s a bit of stranger news’, he said right after announcing his next move. Alayne meekly lifted her heavy horse from the board and made account of Willas’ crossbowmen.

She checked back in on her king to make sure he was still safe hidden behind a mountain and flanked by a dragon and rubble.

‘Something happened in Riverrun some days ago. But we only got news today. Apparently the Brotherhood Without Banners… You don’t know them but they’re a band of outlaws claimed to be led by Beric Dondarrion.. All kinds of people are in it; hedgeknights, farmers and others with a distaste for Lannisters and a love for vengeance. It’s said that they invaded Riverrun on the night of Daven Lannister’s wedding to one of Frey’s granddaughter Fair Walda, daughter of Deana Hardyng and Walton Frey I believe. Some escaped. But the castle was locked from the inside, just like the Twins during the Red Wedding. Apparently it’s still locked. Or at least it was when the letter was written. It is like someone tried to recreate what the Freys did to the Starks.’

A shiver ran down Alayne’s spine.

‘Truly? This is verified?’

She paid no attention to her next move, putting it anywhere. Willas proclaimed she’d hit his elephant and now her spearmen were trampled. Willas made another move, but she didn’t have pieces in that spot.

‘I received a letter, written two days after it happened by a Frey who managed to escape. He rode far before he found a place from where he could send a raven to those loyal to the crown. To be honest, I thought the person who had written it was mad. He wrote about some singer playing The Rains of Castamere on a harp after the bedding ceremony had taken place. He was outside when he heard cries from the inside. Apparently he must have learned that cries at a wedding are never good, and immediately ran out. He fled with some other Freys and Lannisters, but many who had gotten out were eaten by wolves.’

‘Wolves?’

Willas nodded.

‘I couldn’t believe it. But then other reports came in confirming the story and being even wilder. They said the ghost of Catelyn Stark had been seen near the castle. And that the heads of the Freys had been thrown over the walls of Riverrun. As if they were taking revenge for the fact that Robb Stark was beheaded.’

Alayne’s blood froze.

_Mother. Robb._

‘I apologize. I shouldn’t have been so explicit with the details.’

‘No no. Is there more?’ she asked greedily.

Willas shook his head.

‘We’re a long way from Riverrun. And the castle is still locked. Until it is unlocked and the bridge is let down, we won’t know what has truly happened. But wolves eating Freys and Catelyn Tully retaking Riverrun from Emmon Frey and Genna Lannister? There’s no such thing as the dead coming back to exact revenge on those who wronged them.’

_How they butchered the both of you. I know you are both dead, but I hope you look down on the world and know that someone is giving the Freys the punishment they deserve. I am only sorry it wasn’t me who avenged you. Even if it is true and they were murdered and decapitated, they deserve so much worse._

She wondered if Littlefinger had written his letter with knowledge of the news.

Although, why would dead Freys make him want her back sooner? No, that couldn’t be the reason for him demanding her return.

Alayne took a look at her pieces and tried to remember the placement she knew of Willas.

‘I moved a piece to square F row six.’

‘What piece is it?’ Willas asked as he bent over the board with renewed attention.

‘A trebuchet.’

‘Bugger.’

He dropped back in his chair as he removed his dragon from the board. He hadn’t even been able to use it yet. Alayne wondered if he had placed his dragon near his king to protect it. She’d remember that.

‘Figure the families of those that are killed will soon start laying siege to the castle. And demand the crown helps them take back the castle. The Lannisters only just stopped laying siege to it, it’s a cursed place’, Willas sighed.

‘That’s a lot of families probably. The Freys are married to everyone, from Rivermen, Westernmen to Northernmen and people of the Vale.’

And then a thought hit her, so sudden and hard she actually had to press her hands to her mouth to prevent from making a sound.

Lord Baelish had given her a book on the nobles of the Vale once, and had told her to memorize the family trees.

Useless really, Sansa had been raised to know all shields and houses. She had already known a lot. However, she’d done as he asked, and the family trees had easily clicked into place with her already acquired knowledge.

Deana Hardyng was the mother of the bride. She was Harry’s aunt.

And Emmon Frey’s mother, the man who’d been given Riverrun by royal decree, was a Royce.

She remembered how back when she first arrived in the Eyrie, Myranda had sounded awfully jealous of her potentially being paired with Harold Hardyng.

Myranda had once had plans for him. She had wanted to remarry.

If both their families wanted revenge, uniting forces through marriage would be a logical move.

And without Alayne present to marry him, he was free to marry. He’d already been disinclined to marry her because of her bastard status. Randa was a Royce, prestigious and rich.

_How funny. I came in and ruined her plans, now she comes in to ruin mine. Littlefinger promised me Harry could win me back Winterfell. A marriage between them would ruin his plans. Is this why he wants me back? It would explain why he made Sansa Stark available for marriage that quickly._

If she didn’t go back, she’d lose the person who’d win back Winterfell for her. Her home.

But – had she not just realized that afternoon how unlikely it was Harry would defend her claim?

She eyed Willas, who was studying the board.

Her heart buzzed yet felt peaceful at the same time. It was not the turbulent sea of emotions threatening to drown her it had once been, when every day she had woken up fearing another round of bad news and unwanted touches from Littlefinger and complicated plans.

He as just as capable of giving her Winterfell as Harry, and they were just as likely to pick up arms against Stannis, the Boltons, and the crown. However, there was a key difference. If Willas didn’t, she would remain in Highgarden where she could be happy. If she married Harry, she would be married to a cocky knight and stuck with Littlefinger.

But could she risk Littlefinger’s promise for a dream?

_If I return, who is to say Harry will not pick Randa over me? I had to be bold and teasing and flirtatious in a way that does not come naturally to me, but does come naturally to her. He’'ll have an easier time falling for Randa than he had for me. Perhaps by the time I go back, he’ll already be married to her. And once I’m back in the Vale, I’m back to being a bird in a gilded cage again, watched every hour of the day, and unable to do anything but what Littlefinger wants._

And why put so much effort in giving Sansa Stark back Winterfell anyways, a move he seemingly did not benefit from? Littlefinger never did something kind for someone else. He only cared about himself.

Even this far removed from him, Sansa Stark was still stuck in the cage he had put her in the day he stole her out of King’s Landing. She was locked in the disguise of Alayne Stone, a bastard with very limited possibilities.

Willas made his move known, but he’d hit one of her mountains. She used her light horse to scout, and was slain down with a sword. A sword, how interesting, only the king wielded a sword. It was time to bring in her dragon. She put it one step in the right direction.

So much to keep into account. So much she wanted to do. So little movement.

‘That is indeed a lot of news, my lord’, she agreed.

‘I wish that were all of it’, he answered tiredly before rubbing his eyes.

‘There’s more?’ Alayne asked in surprise.

‘A party of hostages departed from Riverrun and was on their way towards Casterly Rock. They were ambushed, and the hostages got away.’

‘What hostages?’ Alayne asked.

‘Edmure Tully and the Jeyne Westerling, amongst others. You were still in your convent the first year of the war, so in case you don’t know, she was Robb Stark’s queen.’

Her good sister.

Alayne gasped.

‘I know. My feelings exactly. Riverrun is taken and either before or after that happened the rightful heir to Riverrun got freed. According to the crown Riverrun isn’t his, but people are loyal.’

If her uncle was alive and free, and his wife pregnant she had no claim to the Riverrun.

‘It gets better. Sources say Lady Jeyne’s pregnant.’

‘But the Red Wedding was so long ago. She must be at least eight moons along!’ cried Alayne in astonishment.

If it was true, and she would birth an heir, Sansa was not even the heir to Winterfell anymore. Nor was she the sole Stark.

‘I know. I believe it’s impossible. Probably some riverlanders are just being hopeful.’

‘Why couldn’t it be? Perhaps with the right clothing she could hide it for a long time, and some women don’t carry their children in a noticeable fashion… Still eight moons is a lot for someone not to show.’

‘That’s not the only reason why I believe it’s impossible.’

‘What do you mean?’

Willas bit the inside of his cheek, turning away from her as if he feared her judgement.

‘Back when we first joined the Lannisters we wondered why Tywin Lannister, one of the most ruthless men alive, let all the Westerlings live including Robb’s queen since she could be carrying his heir. The answer was that Sybelle Spicer, the girl’s mother, knew Tywin would decimate her whole house for betraying the Lannisters. To keep Tywin from murdering her house, she made a deal with him. She made sure Robb Stark sacrificed his whole kingdom and broke his oath to the Freys for a girl who wouldn’t conceive. His queen was fed moontea every day. In exchange for causing discord and preventing Stark from getting an heir, her children would marry lords.’

‘Did Jeyne know?’

Willas turned back towards her, his face torn in conflict.

‘No. She was lied to. They thought she wouldn’t be able to lie to his face.’

_Poor Robb._

_Poor Jeyne._

_Tywin Lannister was indeed Joffrey’s grandfather. The world was a better place without them._

‘This goes too far!’ she cried.

‘Politics is one thing, but this is quite another. The… The cruelty’, she stammered.

‘It’s filthy politics. Cruel, dirty, it goes against every code of conduct and every set of morals. I admire a good game of clever politics, but I hope I will never stoop so low once I am Lord Paramount’, Willas admitted.

‘I- this is very secret information. Thank you for trusting me.’

‘And it should stay secret. I fear that if people hear Tywin Lannister kept another king’s wife barren, the Lannister name would suffer even more. I believe even their own bannermen and people may start turning against them at some point.’

He was leaning on the arm of his chair, gazing solemnly at the board. He picked up his rubble after Alayne hit them. ‘These worry me, you know? That band of outlaws down north, and all the peasants that have turned feverishly religious in the capitol… And the faith is armed now, an awful decision, truly awful. The faith militant cannot be corrupted or ignored. They have the people and the weapons. They’re not just pawns anymore. Anyone who thinks so is unbelievably stupid.’

‘So you are saying that piece needs to become more powerful in this game?’ Alayne teased.

A joyless smile tugged at his lips.

‘But in honesty, why bring up the the people and their faith?’

‘The High Sparrow declared Tyrion Lannister’s marriage to Sansa Stark void based on a pre-existing marriage with offspring. He has been declared a deserter of the Faith. If he’s not afraid of going against one of the most important families in the realm, I doubt he fears anything’, he explained as he made his move.

‘Really? He can do that, and without any of the two parties present?’ Alayne asked innocently.

‘You don’t need parties present or check whether the marriage is consummated if the marriage was illegal in the first place’, Willas frowned.

‘I do wonder where that girl is though. Poor girl, she’s been through so much, and now she’s been missing for what has to be…’

Willas paused himself, and looked at the young woman in front of him, who was wholly absorbed in the game. She showed no interest in the topic, wholly unaware of the enormous impact Tyrion’s marriage to Sansa had made on Willas’ own life and the political landscape. If it hadn’t been for that marriage, he would have long since been married. There wouldn’t even be something between him and Alayne.

She looked up innocently, with bright blue eyes.

She didn’t even ask why he was interested in the girl.

‘I am sorry to say, Willas, but your king will be dead by the next move’, she announced.

‘Truly?’ he looked back at the cyvasse board.

‘Who’s turn is it?

‘Mine’, she responded calmly before making her move.

‘Cyvasse’, she declared. ‘Death to the king.’

Willas lifted the screen.

All Alayne’s players were surrounded. Her dragon was at the point of being removed from the board, her king was about to be killed and her trebuchet was about to be destroyed. He hadn’t been attentive enough to protect his own pieces, but in a couple of moves, she would have been completely destroyed.

‘Well played. I’m off much worse than you are, had I not taken your king.’

‘Ah, but you did. Just like in real life it doesn’t matter how much battles are won and how much support a king has, once he’s dead, it’s game over.’

Alayne nodded, a dark look coming over her face before she looked up with a smile.

‘Perhaps we can sit down a while and relax, let our minds rest?’ she offered. But she was already standing with their glasses in hand and walking over to precisely his couch.

Once he joined her she turned her body towards him.

‘Your shoulders hurt, I have seen. I cannot help you with your leg, but allow me?’ she asked softly as she laid her hands on his shoulders.

‘Thank you.’

‘It’s nothing’, she said softly, biting back the pain of her blisters as she massaged his shoulders.

She loved being closer to him, and was desperate to distract him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Coming up next: a Willas pov


	14. Five-and-twenty notes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Willas writes letters, Alayne is injured, and a secret is uncovered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) I fixed the previous chapter. I wrote about the Alys and Sigorn wedding but that’s one of the last things to happen in all of the books and happens over a month after the date when the chapter was supposed to take place. So I switched it to the Fake-Arya x Ramsay wedding.
> 
> 2) Short timeline overview for those wanting to keep track of what’s happening in my story compared to the asoiaf timeline (day/month) :  
> Solstice was on the 21st of June in my story. Kevan died on 28/6, the same time as Jon Connington is starting to move on Storm’s End. 30/6 the slaughter of the Freys at Riverrun in my story. 1/7 Arianne leaves to meet Aegon. 3/7 Cersei’s trial ends (is meant to be finished 5 days after Kevan’s death according to the book). Littlefinger hears of the Frey deaths that day. Chapters 11 and 12 take place at 7/7.
> 
> There’s roughly 1215 miles between the Gates of Moon and Highgarden. The distance a raven can fly a day averages about 500 miles a day and Baelish sent his letter to Sansa in the late afternoon. So that would mean Sansa received Littlefinger’s letter on the sixth, however she wrote about reding his letter in the morning because I assumed letters would only be distributed once a day to servants and “normal people” while letters to Willas would be delivered almost immediately upon arrival. So the events of the previous two chapters took place on 7/7. This is the same day as the first Barristan Selmy chapter from ADWD.
> 
> Now I know I probably messed up the timeline in some places, just as travel speeds. I’m trying :p I know that technically the news of Cersei winning her trial should have become known to Alayne and Willas long before the 7th. To be frank I wanted to mention what had happened without having to make two separate chapters or have time passing in an obnoxious manner.
> 
> This chapter is a lot of letters so I want to clarify beforehand the chapter takes place on the 8th and 9th of July. A lot is going to happen in a short few days so dates are important.
> 
> Asterixes mean the passages between them are coded. I’m certain most lords in Westeros are afraid their letters will be intercepted so I’m sure they’ll code their letters. But I won’t spend time addressing it further in my story. Sansa and Baelish use a book cipher, and the book they’re using is of course, a version of The Winter Maiden (which is both ironic because it is a dead giveaway of Sansa’s identity, but it is also a northern song that has never been sung in the South in the books and would not be known by southerners), because no lord or maester would think to use a book of songs to code letters. And they definitely wouldn’t expect Baelish to.

_**Willas POV** _

_“Dear son,_

_It will please you to know that despite recent developments I still hold both the title of hand and temporary regent. I am still keeping most of my troupes here to protect your sister in case the High Sparrow turns out to be as corrupt as the previous High Septon._

_You will no doubt have heard of that business in Riverrun. We have decided to send the Lannister soldiers back, they were the closest and could respond soonest. They claim not a single Frey or Lannister was left alive. The red river is congested with bloated bodies. The Frey banners have been taken down and the Tully banners have been hung anew. The missing Edmure Tully has been declared as lord of Riverrun and the Blackfish is said to once again be holding the castle. Personally I don’t think we should fight them. If the siege is resumed that band of outlaws will eventually starve, I refuse to waste our resources on it._

_I know you are probably thinking about Storm’s End. First off I don’t think highly of Jon Connington and doubt he has the power to take Storm’s End by force. Secondly Mathis Rowan is still there. I have suggested to him he retreats and lets Jon Connington lay siege to Storm’s End. Let Stannis’ men and Connington’s men exhaust their resources. It will buy us time. Then by the time Margaery’s trial is over I will send my forces over to make advantage of the weakened state of both, or whoever remained._

_*I have secretly commanded one thousand men stationed outside of King’s Landing to march to the Mander and take all remaining Tyrell ships down to the Shields and Oldtown. I kept a large part of our forces in the Kingswood so I could move them anywhere should a situation become really dire, without it being noticeable I’m moving my forces. Keep the twenty thousand men still in the Reach near you in case anyone dares to sail up the Mander or attack one of our houses._

_You probably worry that these one thousand men have no means of transportation, and that Garlan is already at the Shields. But don’t worry, your grandmother took her time making her way through the Reach to convince all lords to send their strongest and biggest boats to the Mander so the troupes could travel by ship. Now that Garlan has taken the Shields and is marching towards the Honeysuckle the Shields are yet again defenceless. Loras and my men will go and hold them, and guard the Mander and the coast so that Garlan can be certain he won’t be attacked from the back._

_The Ironborn are nothing but pirates. They are dangerous, but I am certain a show of strength like Garlan striding in with ten thousand men and your Hightower grandfather using his own private fleet will make them cower, in case the Redwyne fleet does not. I rather have too many men than too few. People need to fear the Reach, we need to show our strength. And we will.*_

_Has Garth already left by the way? The sooner he arrives the better. If the Iron Throne were made of gold, I’d have melted it already to repay our debts, we need a lord treasurer._

_Your lord father,_

_Mace Tyrell_

_Lord of Highgarden_

_Lord Paramount of the Mander_

_Warden of the South_

_Hand of the King”_

Willas sighed and buried his face in his hands. He did understand his reasoning, and personally he did not object to sending more troupes to their western waters and refusing to send troupes towards Riverrun.

He did however loathe how his father quickly brushed over the taking of Riverrun, the advancement of Jon Connington towards Storm’s End and the Greyjoy army.

However, he was relieved his father had told Lord Rowan to retreat. That was most convenient. He knew Lord Rowan, another man who was connected to their family through the Queen of Thorns. He was sensible, loyal to House Tyrell, and not unsympathetic towards the Targaryens. And his sister’s husband, Baelor Hightower, had been on very good footing with Oberyn and Elia Martell. If it came to it and Arianne gave Willas the sign, he could easily ask Lord Rowan to negotiate on the Reach’s behalf. He’d rather send someone of his own family, but all were over twenty days removed from Storm’s End. If things developed fast, Lord Rowan would be the only viable option.

He walked over towards the big map of Westeros, and kept the unopened other letters in his hands. After moving a part of his father’s troupes, he opened the next letter, Garlan’s. He always loved letters from Garlan. He was both glad and anxious when reading his letters.

His brother always had a pleasant, hopeful tone, although every time Willas received them he dreaded they would contain bad news. Garlan was risking his life, after all.

_“Dear brother,_

_My I run behind on news; I start taking back the Shields in autumn, and finish in Winter. And what are all these things I’ve heard of since I touched land again? Old Garth becoming master of coin after all? Well at least thanks to the Queen of Paranoia we need not feel guilty to send him towards King’s Landing with his sons and without the promised warships, since she has insulted him we need not gift the crown even more. All the better for me, I have urgent need of those battle ships. Ah, I can smell the fresh paint of those battle ships already._

_You can send your next letter for me to the city of Brightwater. One day you’ll be able to send your ravens to Brightwater Keep itself dear brother. The second all these silly usurpers stop pestering us I’ll take it and become a lord in my own right, I’ll be your favourite and most loyal bannerman. How grand it’ll be, you the lord of Highgarden, the most powerful lord paramount of all of Westeros, I the most famous battle commander, Loras a legendary Kingsguard member and Margaery our sweet beloved queen._

_I’ll be there in four days, since we keep a fast pace (but not too fast, I make sure we don’t run too far ahead of our supply chain, I’ve learned since Renly). When you write, update me on Margaery’s trial. Father doesn’t bother sending news to me, he always writes to you. But I long to hear updates. I feel awful for leaving Margie and Leo in that place. But I know that I cannot protect them there. I protect them best by keeping the realm safe._

_Well that’s all the updates I’ve got. After the Greyjoys are done with, I’m going to take a little break in Highgarden, I miss it so. I’m sorry I didn’t drop by. I’ve been racing all over the Reach but never was I close enough to drop by in Highgarden, it was always just a bit too far off course. You have no idea how much it hurt me to pass past our family grounds, but be unable to visit. Within a moon’s turn I’ll be back in Highgarden for at least a month. I miss a comfortable bed and fancy food, and I miss you, mother, grandmother and just the general sense of peace that comes with being home. You have a license to talk until your tongue wears out. I want to know all about all recent developments, I’m hopelessly behind, and I want to know all about the Harvest Feast as well. You had to pick a maiden, didn’t you? I’m dying to know who you picked. Was it Rowella Rowan? Was it that niece old Lord Oakheart? Is it Ella? Are any of them still in Highgarden even? As I said, I’m awfully behind. In any case, I’m sure you did well, had you fallen into the ditch with that leg of yours, I’m sure even I would have heard. Congratulations!_

_Give my love to mother and grandmother when you see them again. I take with Loras being better and awaiting father’s ships coming down from King’s Landing (one thing he did tell me!) to occupy the Shields, they’ll soon be back home._

_I’m actually jealous of Loras, he can drop by Highgarden on his way to the Shields. He always was the lucky child. I’m sure despite the dramatic accounts of his injuries he’ll have one small scar and look all the more handsome for it!_

_May the seven bless you and our family Willas._

_I wish you all the best, and as little worries as possible._

_Don’t forget to sleep, stretch your legs and smell the roses._

_Greetings,_

_Garlan the Galling Gallant Gargoyle”_

The message was sweeter than honeywine, and a balm to his lonely heart. But it simultaneously made his heart ache since it reminded him of how much he missed his brother. He loved all his siblings dearly, but Garlan was closest to him in age and character.

For five years it had been just the two of them. And despite Garlan first being madly jealous that Willas got to go squire and participate in a tourney, so jealous had Willas been in return when he had to watch his brother squire and participate in a tourney and get knighted, living Willas’ dreams. They both bore each other’s jealousy well, and came out stronger understanding that despite that they had both wanted to accomplish the same achievements, it mattered not that one had succeeded and the other had failed, since Garlan was the second son and needed his battle skills, while Willas needed his mind.

By the time they were adults they had become each other’s crutch, Willas being proud of Garlan’s achievements and using his brother to vent his worries, and Garlan seeking out his brother’s council when he lacked knowledge or was in need of life advise.

He moved the troupes of his brother.

Then there was a short letter by Gareth Clifton of Fair Isle.

_“To the regent of the Reach,_

_Lord Willas Tyrell,_

_Because we have not forgotten that we are one and the same realm, and count our blessings that we as an island have thus far been spared from Ironborn raids. We send you two hundred men, and ten of our fine ships, laden with weapons. My men and ships are ready to help you beat the Ironborn that are plaguing your shores. If they are dead, they are a bother to neither of us.  
My good-brother Lord Farman sends twenty of his ships as well, filled with weapons and experienced sailors._

_I have not forgotten the goodness of your great-grandfather Runceford Redwyne who shared some shipbuilding tips with us. His advice improved our ships, and since then we have also had good trade relationships with the merchants living on your shores. I shall also not forget her highness queen Margaery’s willingness to take one of my sons into her service. Hugh always considered serving the crown a great honour, he always wrote about her grace with the utmost admiration. See in this offer my thanks for years of friendly relationships and a repayment for the kindness your family bestowed upon mine._

_I pray for Queen Margaery’s and my son’s release, free of guilt. Truth will conquer._

_Esteemed greetings,_

_Ser Gareth Clifton, head of House Clifton”_

Thirty extra ships to fight the ironborn, seemingly free of charge. It was too good to be true, although perhaps indeed years of careful friendships had lead to this, as had, without a doubt, Queen Cersei’s paranoid imprisonment of so many who served Margaery.

Cersei was making enemies of her allies, even her own bannermen were starting to find ways to go against her. Willas had no doubt Ser Gareth had only sent the letter because Lord Farman wanted to avoid his secret act of rebellion being detected by other Westermen.

He placed thirty new ships on the board, and mentally noted that he would have to inform Loras and Garlan of it.

The last letter was from his good-sister Leonette.

_“Dear brother,_

_I dare bet you did not expect a letter from me. I admit I am not a regular writer and for that I am sorry. But I suppose allowances must be made, for you know how awful and hectic everything has been in the capital. I believe your father has updated you on what is truly important, so the only news I can share is my own._

_I will overshare with you, you know I can hold nothing from you. You know how Garlan and I have been doing our best to concieve. Because we married only a couple of months before Renly declared himself king we have been separated for the largest part of our marriage. But finally the seven blessed us. I had my blood the week before Garlan left, so I was unsure at first but now my belly is swelling. Soon we may have a new generation of Tyrells. Are you not delighted? I admit, I am as scared as I am joyful. I have not yet told anyone, not even Garlan. I want to, but he travels so fast that I cannot send a raven to him, and I would not wish such news to fall in the wrong hands._

_It is not the right time to tell the rest of the family, everyone is so miserable and so busy. However you must know, both as Garlan’s best friend, the future uncle of the babe, and its future lord. Since snow has fallen in the capital (only lightly and only once, but it is still very cold), I have been able to wear thicker and looser dresses. The other girls have not even noticed yet! But oh how I fear for me and the babe, this place is so treasonous. I wish I were safely home in Highgarden but I refuse to abandon a sister in her hour of need._

_I hope nothing bad ever happens to our sweet family, but as I am presently carrying your heir should something happen to Garlan, I will return home as soon as the trial is over._

_In Highgarden the roses grow strong. It is in Highgarden soil I wish to grow my little rose._

_I hope this small glimmer of hope manages to brighten your day, sweet brother._

_And know you may always write to me if you have news of your own (good or bad) to share. I am not Garlan, but I know him well enough to know just what he would say to you. And I am always here to support my beloved brother._

_By the way, have you heard about the annulment of Lady Sansa’s and Lord Tyrion’s wedding? Isn’t that weird! It’s like the wedding was never meant to happen._

_Hugs and kisses,_

_Lady Leonette Tyrell_

_Lady of Brightwater Keep”_

Willas had to shake his head, and couldn’t keep the smile off of his face. Leonette had little tact, but was all sweetness.

A child! Finally a child. And indeed, perhaps the only Tyrell offspring in the foreseeable future. He wished Leonette were home already, but he understood and loved her for staying with his sister.

He was sure she’d wanted to write even more about Sansa and Tyrion, despite that, in his opinion, she was already a tad too careless with her words. He knew she had loved Sansa and had thought her the sweetest girl, and he knew Garlan had also liked Sansa, and had greatly admired Lord Tyrion for how he bore his family’s antics and managed to take on his short-lived duties as master of coin.

He decided that despite that it was Leonette’s place to inform her husband, he would write to Garlan. Leonette had trouble reaching him while he knew where Garlan would head next. He did not doubt his brother would be delighted by the news. And secretly Willas hoped the news would make Garlan more careful in his battle against the Ironborn.

However he was becoming optimistic, the Redwyne fleet was almost at the Arbor, Garlan was well on his way to get to Oldtown, and Loras would defend the western coast should the fleeing ironmen decide to attack the coast again.

The day rolled by, and not a single task or challenge managed to ruin Willas’ mood. In the afternoon he was given some letters that had been written by lords, ladies and servants living in Highgarden. The letters had been carefully unsealed so he could read them and decide whether the information within them was interesting to him and safe enough to be attached to a raven. He quickly read through them.

One was too informative, containing a lot of talk about winter preparations, directed to maester Creylen of Casterly Rock. Willas asked Igon Vrywel, the captain of the household guard, to interrogate the servant and lock them up until their information was outdated before releasing them.

Unsurprisingly, there was a letter from Alayne between the stack, they always put the letters of Lord Baelish and Alayne between the letters he should read. They never contained something Willas didn’t know yet, and appeared to be normal father-daughter conversation, as far as one could expect that from one of the most dangerous politicians in Westeros. Although, of course, they coded parts of their letters.

This intrigued Willas, and he’d tried cracking it. He worried that those passages did contain important secret information either about Highgarden or the Vale. Maester Lomys also gave an attempt at cracking it, but all efforts had been in vain. To crack it they needed to know what book Alayne and Lord Baelish were using to code their letters and he had no idea which one it was, they had tried to use the most famous religious and political books to no avail.

This one though, held no coded sentences.

_“Dear lord father,_

_I am glad to hear the Vale is in such good hands. I have no doubt its people will be well protected by you and the Vale lords. I pray for the good health and prosperity of all people living in the Vale._

_I write to you to tell you of a most amazing offer I have received. Apparently I have pleased Lady Alerie a lot with my service, and thus have been invited to stay on for the remainder of winter. The Tyrells are truly too generous, and I am incredibly honoured to be of service to them. Being a lady-in-waiting to the Lady of Highgarden is more than an insignificant no one of my status could dream of._

_Father, I know you wished for my return. I long for your company as well. I feel like I have lost you before I could even get used to having you as my father. I miss our conversations and quiet evenings. You have always been so good to me, despite me being bastard born. However, I feel it has become time for me to repay your kindness. I am a burden to you, and I wish to be no longer. The tourney has made that clear to me. Here I can have an honourable position, and still be your daughter, without having to fear a repeat of the incident of the tourney. It would also be awfully unkind to refuse this more than generous offer from the Tyrells._

_I wish you all the best father, and I pray for you every day._

_Your loving daughter,_

_Alayne Stone”_

The letter was completely innocent. But it was that she made it look as if she had no choice but to accept the offer. He had offered her to stay of course, but it had seemed like she had desperately wished to stay, before he’d always accepted that she would go whenever her father wanted her to. He wondered whether to a bastard who had been sent away due to lords taking offence at her presence, it did feel like she had no choice but to stay away from home.

He took a sip of his wine and lazily looked at the letter. It would be perfectly fine to send.

She always had pretty handwriting. It was a neat elegantly calligraphed cursive, but a decidedly northern style and quite different from her father’s and the script used by other septons and septas he knew. It did not matter that it was unlike her father’s since she had been raised by septas from the Vale, not by Baelish who hailed from the Riverlands.

He wondered whether septas were taught multiple writing styles, and whether their documentary script differed greatly from their bookhand. He called his servant and asked to bring in a septa.

He unlocked the secret compartment of his desk and took out his book.

He had almost immediately suspected something was wrong with Alayne Stone, a suspicion that had only grown in time. By now the evidence had become insurmountable. She was not who she said she was. He had not minded at first, but since his feelings were developing and the amount of trust between them increasing every day, it had become necessary to solve the conundrum.

He opened his book on the page dedicated to the mystery. He’d listed his reasons for believing something was wrong, and had supplied arguments why the arguments could be wrong or right. He hoped listing his thoughts would help fix the puzzle soon.

  1. Alayne Stone can dance very well despite being raised a septa. Septas are not taught to dance, septas don’t get the occasion to dance. Therefor she must have either mastered dancing in a period of seven months, or she had lied about having been raised a septa.
  2. Alayne Stone carried herself with the airs and graces of a gentlewoman and did not simper before Willas like one who was raised to be subordinate. When she found out about his real name, she had even become angry and cold. No servant would lash out at the next lord of Highgarden. But, he ruled, angry young people often did stupid things they would not normally do.
  3. Alayne Stone spoke like a real lady. He believed that her not being raised by commoners, could have had to do with her speech patterns, but they were a lot more elaborate and careful than many ordinary septas. Only the septas of noble birth would speak like she did.
  4. Alayne had won the embroidery competition despite that another septa had confirmed they did not learn fine embroidery. Yet she had won from noble ladies who had been taught to embroider delicately from a very young age. She’d even defeated the personal embroiderer of his female family members. Either she had learned in seven months what that young lady had been taught her whole life, or something was wrong.
  5. Alayne dealt well with dogs and was not afraid of horses, and she talked to them like someone experienced with handling animals, despite that she claimed to have never owned a pet or horse. Natural?
  6. She knew a lot about history, politics and culture. It could have been that as a septa she came in touch with a lot of literature, but where did the interest come from? An inquisitive nature?
  7. When she first met him, Alayne said she found talk of politics tedious, yet since then she oftentimes talked about it with him. He had not caught her saying a single ignorant thing, despite her professed lack of interest or knowledge. She had lied. She even knew where Jon Connington, who had left Westeros so long ago, lived.
  8. Alayne knew a lot about winter, and had even mentioned the hot water heating system in Winterfell. Willas had an interest in architecture, but it struck him as odd she knew. How natural was it that a girl who only had memories of one winter, and had lived her entire life near the seaside, knew that much?
  9. Alayne knew a lot about the workings of a castle. She could be a fast learner, and have learned it all during the five months she was with Lord Baelish, but she had called herself a slow learner. Besides, it would be strange if the notoriously private Lord Baelish taught her about the paperwork and ledgers of castle households.
  10. Alayne had admitted to feeling trapped in a cage.
  11. Alayne had poor self-confidence. This would be normal for someone bastard born.
  12. Alayne was a blushing virgin, but had kissed before. It was normal for a former septa-apprentice to be prude. However, she said she’d been kissed “once upon a time” as if it had been long ago, while she’d only left Gulltown seven months ago. Could a septon or septa have forced a kiss on her? She did describe it as an unpleasant experience.
  13. Alayne had said she only saw destriers during tourneys, but there had only been one tourney in the Eyrie, and before that she’d been training to be a septa. She wouldn’t have visited other tourneys. Had she wrongly expressed herself?
  14. She had received very accurate character descriptions of his siblings. But Lord Baelish had met them, so it could have been him supplying the information to Alayne.
  15. She had known about his love for horseflesh. Claimed servants had spoken of it in the kitchens.
  16. She knew exactly how long ago the Red Wedding had happened, despite that she was still with the septas back then. He reasoned she could have remembered it because Littlefinger told her it was important.
  17. She had blisters on her hands, a clear sign she wasn’t used to manual labour. She only offered a poor excuse for having them. Septas definitely wouldn’t get blisters from working in the gardens for a few days.
  18. Said Cersei wasn’t innocent. She could know more thanks to Littlefinger.
  19. The first inch of her hair appeared to be a much lighter and more rich colour, and the length of her hair was also changing colour. In the beginning he’d thought it had been the sunshine lighting her hair and making a difference in the colouring, but it was clear now that she had dyed her hair. It appeared to be a red hue.
  20. Red hair, blue eyes and very tall. She had nothing in common with her father.
  21. Only arrived in the Eyrie with Lord Baelish half a year ago, no prior mention of her. Baelish said he didn’t know about her before. But it was strange he would trust a daughter he didn’t know at all to organize a tourney.
  22. She had organized a tourney, something no one of lower birth or religious upbringing could have done.
  23. She never started talking about religion, or never connected a topic to religion.
  24. She had been fascinated by the weirwood tree. This could have been her natural curiosity. But she had also become unreasonably angry when she found out there had been more weirwood trees. Why did she get so worked up about weirwood trees?
  25. Why would a girl who had only just found her father, willingly separate from him for the entirety of winter? Had she not had friends in the Vale? Did she not miss her father? Did she not want to make up for lost time?



‘You called for me, my lord?’ a veiled septa asked after being shown into his room.

‘Yes, I had a question’, he said, and smiled recognizing it was the same woman who’d sat on the panel of judges.

‘Would you recognize the script used by a fellow septa? Are you all taught the same script?’

‘Yes my lord. We have a universal script, because we are meant to serve every house no matter where it is located in the realm. It has remained virtually the same for many decades. Stability is the key to endurance.’

‘Then you must recognize this script?’ Willas asked, handing over the letter since it held nothing private.

The septa took the letter, bending her head deeply as she accepted the letter.

‘No my lord, this is not the script we are taught.’

‘Not the professional script used in books or in bookkeeping perhaps, but is this not an informal script used by septas?’

‘The way some letters are shaped, their roundness, this is not the way we are taught. It is another version of our script.’

‘Another version?’

‘Yes my lord, the same way I believe your script differs from ours. We have trained you, but you have also taken over the regional script variation. This script has too many flourishes, we write more soberly, and as I said, these letters are too round.’

‘But do all of you use the same script, even in personal correspondence?’

‘We might write a bit more sloppily when writing to our acquaintances. But these letters are just not it, my lord. The only ones who probably write like that are literate ladies who join us later on in life, since they just stick to the script they have already mastered.’

‘Thank you.’

‘Is that all?’

‘Well actually, I had a question relating to the libraries that are accessible to septas. How big are they?’

‘Libraries my lord? We copy books, but we are no maesters. We don’t have big libraries.’

‘What books do you usually have, and read?’

‘The only ones who read anything but works on the Faith are the septas training to become tutors to nobles, my lord. And because we believe too much knowledge may corrupt our novices, and knowledge has to be earned after obedience is shown, septas only get access to our libraries after taking their vows.’

‘Interesting. Septa, one last question: would a girl who has been raised by the true faith get blisters at the age of six-and-ten?’

‘No my lord, her hands would have long hardened.’

‘Thank you septa. I count on your silence.’

‘I serve your house loyally and faithfully my lord. I am at your service.’

‘Thank you, you may go.’

Alayne was lying about having been raised a septa. But where had she grown up?

She was obviously not raised as a peasant either, she had to be lying about her identity.

There was no way for someone to have the skillset, mannerisms, and knowledge of a lady without being raised by the best septas or ladies. A lady would know how to rule a household. A lady would know how to deal with horses and pets. A lady would get blisters from working. And a very accomplished lady could have won the contest without surprise.

It was clear the girl could not be his bastard daughter. So how did a noble lady find herself in the clutches of Lord Baelish and under his protection? That was a high risk move for the most notoriously egoistic player. Especially since he took the girl in around the time he married Lysa Arryn.

Willas doubted a future wife would gladly take in a bastard, let alone a strange girl who wasn’t even his blood, but a girl he wanted to pass off as his daughter. Unless, of course, Baelish had lied to Lady Arryn and told her Alayne was in fact his real daughter who he cared deeply about.

For Baelish to do such a thing, he would have to either be very attached to the girl, or had to see a big advantage to passing her off as his daughter.

Willas tried to see Alayne’s actions in the light of her not being Littlefinger’s bastard.

She found her father ambitious. She felt caged. She wanted to remain in Highgarden. This sounded like a girl who was unhappy to be with Lord Baelish, despite that she never said so outright. It would also explain why she tried to make it sound like she had no choice but to accept Willas’ invitation to stay here. If she feared him, she could not outright tell him she had no desire to return to him.

Instantly, he worried for her.

A noble accomplished lady was kept in the Eyrie, as the daughter of one of the most fearsome political players in the realm, who didn’t cower from poisoning people. She had to be terribly afraid. It didn’t make sense that a daughter would willingly be separated from her father for an entire winter, but it did make sense if she wasn’t his daughter but his prisoner.

But why would Baelish send a prisoner to Highgarden? Wasn’t he afraid she’d spill the beans to others? Wasn’t he afraid she’d never return? What power did Lord Baelish wield over her that she would not dare to flee?

There were so many questions, and no answers.

He walked over to his fireplace, he hoped the heat would ease his sore leg muscles.

He decided all the questions he didn’t have answers to didn’t matter. The only question that mattered, was the question of who she was. And once he knew who she was, the other questions would get solved as well.

He took another sip of his wine.

How ironic that she’d been mad with him for hiding his identity a couple of days, while she was still pretending to be someone she was not. He had half a mind to outright ask her, and half a mind to discover her the way she had discovered him, by waiting for her to betray herself the way he’d betrayed himself with his leg.

He allowed his thoughts to swivel through his head for some time as he sat down in his big chair in front of the fire.

If anything, the whole affair showed how distracted he’d been. He’d been so worried about his family, so tired due to a lack of sleep, and so busy with other matters that he’d been blind to what should have been clear within a matter of days. It was embarrassing how glaringly obvious it should have been, at least to him, that she was a noble lady in disguise, now that he looked back on it.

He did not call for Alayne that night. He needed time to mull over a new approach to her. He’d known for a long time something had been wrong with her, yet he had still pursued a relationship with her. This did not change anything. Or did it? It could still perfectly end when she went back to Lord Baelish. And she was still the same person, or at least, she still acted like Alayne Stone did. He wondered if the character of Alayne Stone differed much from the character of the actual girl. She had come across so genuine and earnest. If her character was fake, she was a very convincing liar.

He decided he would try and test her to find the weak spots in her charade.

If Baelish had taken her in, she must be important.

By ten in the evening, he decided he’d head downstairs and see what his people were up to. He had been amongst them more to help out with the winter preparations, and had noticed the people liked seeing him. He did not doubt they would be glad to see him during their evening entertainment.

The best female singing voices in the castle were taking turns singing songs with the musicians, men and women were playing cards and drinking games, and many were chatting amicably. He could hear whispers rising when he entered the hall, but ignored them with his head held high, and walked over to some of his lords at the top of the head table. Talking to them would not hurt. Indeed, he should talk with them a lot more than he did.

And so he talked with them, about politics and Reach matters at first, since that was the only thing he was confident of they’d like and eagerly talk about, and then he let them lead the conversation. Surprisingly, Alayne was still here. She was surprised to see him too, clearly, but managed to act perfectly indifferent. As if they hadn’t spent the past three weeks kissing almost every night. She was a good actress.

Although perhaps it shouldn’t be surprising, he didn’t know what Alayne did on evenings she wasn’t with him. He’d simply assumed she was always in some sitting room with Amaryllis Flowers. She and Amaryllis were asked to sing, since their singing voices had been much admired during the contest. Alayne sung the Golden Rose, and Alayne a song he did not know.

He almost completely zoned out of his conversation, but he couldn’t help it. Her voice was beautiful, and today she held his interest even more than usual.

“So far from who I was  
From who I love  
From who I want to be  
  
So far from all our dreams  
From what love means  
From you here next to me  
  
So far from seeing hope  
I stand out here alone  
Am I asking for too much?  
  
So far from being free  
Of the past that's haunting me  
The future I just can't touch  
  
And if you take my hand  
Please pull me from the dark  
And show me hope again  
  
We'll run side by side  
No secrets left to hide  
Sheltered from the pain”

He could not help but wonder about the song. It appeared to be almost directly linked to them. Such a rare song, she had obviously not picked it because it was popular and cheery.

Did she mean something with it? It was almost like she was admitting her secret to him, while at the same time begging him to stay here and drop the secrecy.

Who was she?

_“Brother,_

_I write this letter before receiving news about Margaery’s trial. Once I get an update I’ll write you another letter, but I did not want to wait to send this first one. After all, the weather is bad, it could delay the ravens, and this is news I thought you should really hear._

_Gareth Clifton is sending us ten ships laden with weapons and men, and his good-brother Lord Farman twenty to help us beat the Ironborn, they are currently on their way to the Shields. You can perhaps send a note to the crew you left behind there so they’ll know to expect them. Perhaps Loras has use for them, or perhaps you wish to use them. I leave it up to you._

_Secondly I received a letter from your wife, she wishes to reach you since she has news for you. I don’t have the time to ask for her permission to pass on the news, but since I do have the opportunity to write to you I will anyways. Dear brother, my congratulations, your wife is with child, and about five moons along. Margaery’s trial will be over on the eleventh, and then she will come home to deliver the babe in the safety of Highgarden. Fight bravely and safely so you may meet your son or daughter._

_Greetings, your brother_

_Willas Tyrell_

_Lord Regent of Highgarden”_

After responding to the letter of his father and Leonette, he also sent a message about the extra ships to Loras’ next travel destination.

Then it was time to respond to the letters of house Bulwer, house Hewett, house Hunt, house Serry and house Blackbar. Most representatives of the houses had left right after the solstice to start the winter preparations on their lands. He’d expected the ruling lords would oppose or delay the preparations as they had done for the past year, but if the onslaught of bad weather had one benefit it was that all lords were shocked out of their passivity and spurred into action. Many were now writing to ask more clarity, more advice and financial support so they could properly prepare.

After dinner, he decided to seek out Alayne, deciding that he had mastered his emotions well enough to face her. He had prepared some remarks and questions to figure out her true identity and was all by all feeling pretty confident.

He decided to seek her out for a change, but did not find her in the library or the drawing room where she usually sat with Amaryllis. He reasoned she had to be downstairs and was on his way towards the staircase when he turned a corner and noticed Maester Lomys and Amaryllis Flowers talking a bit further down the hallway.

They noticed him as well, and curtsied quickly. He felt worry bubble up in his chest. Why were those two talking here? And where was Alayne if she wasn’t with the blonde? At the same time he felt caught snooping, despite that he was the lord of this castle and no one was in a position to question him.

He could not directly ask Amaryllis for Alayne’s whereabouts, nor could he ask what the two were discussing since that would be impolite.

_Damned courtesy._

‘Maester Lomys. I did not expect to find you here. Usually at this hour you are upstairs in your rooms reading a medical tome.’

He decided that was the best way to get as much information out of him without outright asking for it.

‘So I am, so I am. But when one is needed, one is needed.’

It was the answer he had hoped for, so now he turned towards the blonde with the pretty eyes and the worried expression.

‘Are you unwell?’ Willas asked of her.

‘No my lord. It is my friend Alayne you see, there was an accident’, she stammered, averting her eyes.

‘Accident? Where? What happened?’

‘It happened in the greenhouse this afternoon. Alayne, me and some other women were finishing up when a workman on the roof accidentally dropped a glass pane and a tool.’

Willas blanched.

_Alayne._

_Please don’t let her get scarred or crippled._ It was a life he didn’t wish upon anyone.

She did not deserve to get hurt while she was helping his people.

His eyes flew to the closed door behind them. Her door. She was right there, hurt and scared and alone.

‘Is she alright? When did this happen? Why was I not alerted?’

He had no patience or interest in analysing their facial expressions as he fired his questions.

He needed answers.

And he needed to get into that room.

‘The glass shattered about a foot away from her. Shards of glass flew away and hit her. She was turned towards the falling glass, you see? And the tool hit her on the back’, Amaryllis quickly explained, still shaken by the event.

‘We called for the maester and carried her to her room on a stretcher’, she finished, signalling at the room behind them.

‘At ease, my lord. The girl is shaken, but mostly unharmed. The glass shards tore her dress but it only hurt her where her skin was bared, so that’s her ankles, shins and hands since they were unprotected. The lady wore a dress that was on the shorter side, hm. And the many layers of clothes protected her back from being really damaged by the tool. But she does have a lot of bruising though, but there will be no permanent damage. She’s been tended to and has been given milk of the poppy.’

Willas nodded, having difficulty to keep his eyes on the person speaking, they kept darting back to the door. He wanted to see her. Needed to see her.

‘But we did have a question for you, my lord. It would help if she was allowed a few days of down time to recover. I do not want the cuts on her hands to infect, and she’ll be quite sore in the back’, the maester beseeched him calmly.

‘Anything’, he breathed.

‘Thank you, my lord’, Amaryllis said.

‘If I may, my lord, can I speak with you in private?’ maester Lomys asked.

Willas nodded, and followed the white haired man down the hallway.

‘We did not inform you because we did not think the health of an ordinary lady-in-waiting concerned you – ‘ the maester started apologizing but he was interrupted by Willas.

‘She’s Lord Baelish’s daughter, one of our allies. Her health is of importance, he entrusted her to our care and –‘ Willas said but maester Lomys lifted his hand to halt him.

‘However I did plan seeking you out after I was done. My lord, the lady, what do you know of her past?’

The question took Willas by surprise.

‘It is a mystery, maester Lomys. She claims she was raised by the Faith’, he admitted.

The maester’s face clouded.

‘The Faith? It would surprise me if they would… Strange, strange’, mumbled the maester to himself.

‘What would surprise you? Say what it is you have to say, maester.’

The maester was obviously shocked by Willas’ lack of patience, he thought the young lord had outgrown it. Instantly, Willas felt ashamed of himself.

Damned Tyrell temper.

‘The girl refused to undress at first, my lord, she claimed her back did not hurt. Luckily her friend managed to convince her to let me check it. Her bruise was significant and it did require attention and must have pained her.’

‘She claims to have been raised a septa. Perhaps she is uneasy being undressed around men, even maesters.’

‘Perhaps so, perhaps so,’ the maester admitted, ‘but I believe she did not want me to look at her back because of the scars on it.’

‘Scars?’

‘Yes my lord. There’s quite a few very long horizontal scars running along her back. They’re about a year old if I had to guess, or perhaps even older.’

‘Long you say?’

‘Yes my lord, and very even and straight, and they appear to be equally deep everywhere. So they would have to be delivered by a very long sharp object, and deliberately. And because of their positioning, I’d say the girl wasn’t turning away from them.’

Willas’ head hurt. It didn’t make any sense.

‘Sharp long object, like a sword?’

‘Yes my lord.’

‘How does a girl get horizontal sword strokes on her back? Girls don’t fight. Some do, but she doesn’t strike me as the type.’

‘My lord, I tend to quite a lot of knights and squires, and I have yet to see a boy come in who has been hit horizontally on the back by a sword. Even if they get hit on the back, the wounds are never that long, since they turn away from the sword. And knights mostly use vertical movements when wielding a blade. It is odd, my lord. Very odd. I never heard of the Faith using corporal punishment to young apprentices.’

‘You believe it was a punishment?’

‘It has to be. These wounds are not from combat. Even if she were to, say, be in a village that was under attack, she would not have these kinds of injuries. The girl would have had to stand straight and not move while receiving them to have those kinds of scars.’

It was further evidence she hadn’t been raised by the septas. But it only added more confusion.

Who would beat a noble lady with a sword? Why would she allow them to hurt her?

A horrifying dot connected in his head.

Her first kiss had been much worse.

What if she had escaped from an abusive husband? That could be a good reason to be desperate enough to seek out Lord Baelish.

But no, she had said she had little experience.

 _She could have lied,_ his mind whispered critically.

Yet, her unease and inexperience showed in all the ways she kissed and touched him.

But perhaps she would be scared and hesitant to touch him if she had been treated poorly.

‘But you believe the beatings are a thing of the past?’

‘She could be injured in other places. Or hurt her in ways that do not leave permanent marks.’

Perhaps she was still being mistreated. If she was it would make sense she wanted to remain here.

_The poor girl. She had been asking for my protection, and I hadn't even noticed. She hid it so well._

Shame swallowed him whole. He had expected her and Lord Baelish to have conceived a grand lie, but what if she was an unwilling victim?

‘I’m going to check in on her.’

‘My lord, that’s inappropriate. To visit a lady’s chambers…’

‘It’s my castle, maester Lomys. And she is my guest. It’s my duty to check in on her and make sure she is alright.’

‘My lord, do learn from the past. Robb Stark –‘

Willas clenched his jaw and waited until the first wave of annoyance had abated.

‘I am not going to sleep with her. And even if I did, I am not promised. It would hardly make me an oathbreaker. My bannermen have no reason to turn on me.’

‘Your father’s bannermen, my lord. You have been ruling the Reach for almost a year, but do not forget your father is still alive.’

‘I have not forgotten. But as long as he is absent, the guests of our house are my responsibility. Lord Baelish is a dangerous man, I must make sure the girl will not write about us in a bad way. He’s dangerous as a friend, and even more dangerous as an enemy.’

‘Yes, my lord’, the maester answered unhappily.

Amaryllis was still hovering near the door.

‘Would you mind if I check up on the lady?’

‘N-no my lord’, the young woman stuttered.

Willas nodded and entered the room.

She was almost completely shielded by the curtains that were drawn shut around the bed, he could only just make out her long hair that was fanned out across her pillow, and her pale face between the dark sheets.

‘Willas?’

Her voice was pitifully fragile.

The tension slipped from his shoulders.

‘I came as soon as I heard.’

‘There is no need. It is nothing serious. I’m sorry I can’t join you tonight’, she apologized.

Always apologizing. It clicked in his head that she always had. She took the blame of everything even when it wasn’t her fault. It had annoyed him in the past, how she always slipped into that passive polite role, now he wondered whether it tied in to the beatings she had received.

‘Think nothing of it.’

He wished he could be closer, but maester Lomys was right. This was her bedchamber. She lay on her good side, probably to not apply pressure to her bruises.

‘I’ve been asked to grant you leave from duties.’

‘Oh… The’se no need’, she slurred tiredly.

‘No you have it. Take as long as you need.’

His body had clearly not perceived the decision of his mind to stay away from her bed, his feet had carried him to her on their own accord. Her gaze was so soft he found himself sitting down and taking her hand.

Her fingertips softly pressed against his hand, a soft smile appearing on her face.

‘I hope you don’t think of Highgarden as an unsafe place now.’

‘No, not at all. It is a very safe place. I was just unlucky… I always am’, she added softly.

‘Know that you can always come to Highgarden, if you need a safe place.’

Her eyes were struggling to stay open, no doubt the effect of the dreamwine.

‘I should have come here a long time ago’, she sighed, before her eyes definitely closed.

He bent forward and pushed a kiss against her forehead.

A reasonable man would have left then. But Willas remained.

His heart was torn. Her injury had made him realize just how much he cared for her. She made him act in ways he hadn’t in years. And she raised feelings in him he had never felt before. It worried him deeply. He was not supposed to catch feelings. He didn’t want an affair. He didn’t even know her name. He had to marry for political reasons. It was all awfully inconvenient.

He needed to solve the mystery. And quickly.

He wished his grandmother was home. She was no master of whispers, but she was as good as one. No doubt she’d have it figured out in a matter of minutes. But his head was too full, overflowing with pirates, warfare, family troubles, winter and affection that was becoming more and more like love every day.

He took a deep breath and forced himself to go over every clue and take his time for it, instead of pushing it aside for business, as he usually did.

She was highborn. She couldn’t be anything else.

She pretended to be Lord Baelish’s daughter, so there had to be a reason why she could not use her real name.

She had to be from below the Westerlands.

If anything was true about what she said, she was inexperienced and probably a virgin.

She came from a place where she was beaten.

She had red hair, blue eyes and fair skin.

The Rewynes had red hair, but she wasn’t from the South. The Dondarrions sometimes had red hair, but she didn’t sound or write like a Stormlander. The Tully’s… But there were no Tully women left.

Although…

Ned Stark’s daughters still were missing.

And then the gears in his mind started whizzing and whirring as memories were procured and loose threads were connected.

Sansa Stark had Tully looks.

Sansa Stark had gone missing.

Sansa Stark had disappeared at the same time Baelish discovered his daughter Alayne Stone.

Lord Baelish had grown up with the Tully’s.

Lady Lysa would have a hard time taking in a bastard or another noble maiden, but Sansa Stark was her niece. Sansa could have fled to her only family member left.

His grandmother had written that the girl had been mistreated by King Joffrey.

Sansa Stark would know about the hot water source keeping Winterfell heated.

Of course she knew a lot about winter.

Of course she would care a lot about weirwood trees and not think him odd for visiting one.

The woman he had been supposed to marry was lying right in front of him.

Could it be another? She was a very strong candidate for the secret identity behind the name Alayne Stone.

If grandmother came home, she could confirm it in a second.

Alayne Stone.

Sansa Stark.

He brushed his thumb across her hand.

The girl had the gentle manners and sweet nature his sister had written to him about once upon a time.

Her whole family murdered.

Held hostage for over a year.

Wedded to the imp.

Accused of murder.

Beaten.

No wonder she had trust issues. No wonder she felt like she had no agency. No wonder she felt like a bird in a gilded cage.

Yet she was still so kind and sweet.

He didn’t know how she could still find it in herself to care so much about everyone.

After all that time, some stroke of serendipity had brought his intended to him.

The political climate had changed so much, as had their roles in this war.

He didn’t know what to think of it.

Nor did he know what to do with this revelation.

So he just sat there.

And held her hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) About the Reach army: The reach has over fifty thousand men, but the accounts on how many men the reach are where and when is incredibly vague and confusing. It’s also far from clear whether the Redwyne fleet is counted as part of their force. I have not counted them as part of the force. In AFFC Jaime reports that Garlan has left the city with Olenna and Alerie, taking half of the Reach men with him. But I doubt any lord paramount would ever leave their territory without at least a part of their army still stationed near the most important points. So all 50 000 men can’t have been in King’s Landing during AFFC. I take it at least 20 000 remained within the Reach. So I take that Mace kept 15 000, and took those 15 000 to Storm’s End and back towards King’s Landing during ADWD, except perhaps a couple hundred to serve as a “token force” for the siege of Storm’s End under Lord Rowan. Besides, it's clear some soldiers were still left in the Reach, since it was reported in Feast that Willas was raising his army against the Ironborn.
> 
> 2) As far as Garlan is concerned: in my story he leaves King’s Landing at the same time as in the books with Alerie (in my story Alerie did not come to King’s Landing with her husband. She did not meet Sansa. She knew Joffrey was going to die and instead stayed with Willas to help govern the Reach and arrived right on time for Margaery’s second wedding, and left after Tywin’s funeral) and Olenna. Garlan took the Roseroad and marched ahead with his army towards Brightwater keep to take it. However, the Reach is huge and an army is slow. So when the ironborn started attacking the coast, he must have gone from the Roseroad at the height of Ciderhall, to Old Oaks. Garlan does not have ships, the Redwyne fleet is the only fleet that is known, so Garlan would have to beg the loyal houses for their personal ships (which he has no time for). I think it’s more probable he demanded to use every ship he found along the coastal line on the way from Old Oaks to the Shield Islands, and that he then used all the ships he’d found to take back the Shields. 
> 
> 3) I assume the taking back of the Shields was easy. The Ironborn are plunderers, they don’t really “take” cities or islands. If they forces behind for convenient reasons (say they wanted to go back to their islands), they wouldn’t have left many behind. The ironborn aren’t that numerous either, and I take Euron and Victarion really wanted all men to accompany them. They don’t have enough people to occupy the Shields. At least, not enough people that Garlan wouldn’t be able to take them on.  
> Garlan is very much behind on news and nobody probably sends him a lot of updates since they aren’t as important to him.
> 
> 4) Sansa’s handwriting in the show is quite ugly and unsteady, the letters aren’t neatly paced or carefully formed, which is weird since Sansa would probably have taken great pains at having a pretty handwriting, as beautiful handwriting would be easily seen as an elegant accomplishment, especially in a time when most are illiterate. In the show, Sansa and Jon’s handwriting is quite similar (insular miniscule style, or so I guess when I compare writing fragments from the show with excerpts from my handbook of manuscript studies) while Cersei’s handwriting is a Mediterranean style. I see this as a sign that writing is place-bound, just like there were regional variations in the real world. And I figure Willas would pick up on writing variations with regions he communicates with often. 
> 
> 5) One of the reasons why there’s no coin drop for Willas in discovering Alayne is Sansa, is because the Reach has next to no contact with the North or the Vale. Willas knows Littlefinger and recognizes his handwriting an accent, but Littefinger is originally a riverlander and as far as we know the only Vale person Willas has contact with except for Alayne. Alayne however is (at least as far as Willas knows) raised in the Vale, this means he wouldn’t be suspicious if Baelish and Alayne had different accents and writing hands. Alayne and Baelish have only spent a couple of months in each other’s presence, so it would be normal that they don’t share any similar manners.  
> Now I would like to take this moment to complain about the show since it has handwriting in 9th century style and high gothic handwriting styles, it’s impossible the north’s handwriting would run five centuries behind on the handwriting of the south, especially since the northern lords and ladies get taught how to write by septons and septas and maesters, that have been taught their skills by a centralized institution (the Faith). However, the precedent has been set by George, who used Grecian weapons (Greek fire), described the average peasant’s clothes like something a (pre)Carolingian peasant would wear, and described architecture that fit medieval roman and gothic styles.


	15. Becoming Sansa Stark

_**Sansa Stark POV** _

Sansa Stark awakened with the bitter taste of unsweetened dreamwine on her tongue, a throbbing ache in her back and the heat of a summer day clinging to her skin. But when she opened her eyes, the walls were not the pale red of the Red Keep.

She had not been left behind, alone and injured from a beating by the men who swore to protect the realm. And outside there was no scorching summer heat, but a soft winter day that felt a lot warmer than the previous rainy days. She was also not alone. A figure with a bright braid was curled up in the comfortable chair in front of her vanity. The figure noticed Sansa’s movement, and looked up with a smile, Amaryllis.

Behind her head long twirling rose vines were painted on the walls.

Highgarden.

She was in Highgarden, not in the red keep, and she wasn’t the tortured Sansa Stark anymore but –

‘Alayne, finally. You’ve slept all through the morning. I opened the curtains around your bed hoping the sun would wake you, but it didn’t work.’

‘I did?’

She tore her eyes away from her friend and looked through the window again. The sun was indeed high in the sky.

‘Oh we should have been working’, Alayne whined as her eyes fell close again.

‘No, Lord Willas granted you leave from work until you were healed.’

‘He did?’

‘Yes, Maester Lomys and I asked him for it yesterday after your accident.’

Alayne wished to turn towards Amaryllis, but a stabbing pain made her fall back in the pillows.

‘Do you remember having an accident?’

It was all kind of hazy to Alayne. She remembered looking up and being scared, then feeling something sharp and something hard, and then… Willas?

‘The greenhouse. A glass panel fell down.’

Amaryllis nodded.

‘And a tool too, tool hit your back pretty badly’, Amaryllis added.

Her back.

A memory came back to her of refusing medical care, and arguing until she was blacking out.

Alayne blanched, and Amaryllis, as always seemingly, picked up on her unease.

‘Yeah sorry, but we really had to take a look at it. I’ve known a guy who was kicked in the back by a horse once. He was lame for the rest of his life. We had to make sure you were fine.’

‘And I am fine?’

‘Oh yeah, it’s a nasty bruise, but that’s all it is’, Amaryllis shrugged. ‘Better safe than sorry.’

Alayne nodded weakly.

‘You know’, Amaryllis started softly as she closed her romance novel, ‘on solstice day I thought you didn’t want to undress because you were shy… Since you’ve been raised as a septa.’

The girl sat down on her bedside, but Alayne couldn’t look at her.

The scars didn’t belong to Alayne’s body, they were Sansa’s.

‘But it was because of your back, wasn’t it?’

Alayne’s silence was enough of a confirmation.

‘Did the septas do that to you?’

Alayne shook her head, before she realized that left only Lord Baelish as a culprit.

The dreamwine still held her brain, and left her mind slow.

‘Did Lord Baelish do it then?’

‘I-‘ She realized her previous mistake and turned away from her friend, burying her face in her pillow. She regretted her stupidity. Either she’d have to tell Amaryllis Lord Baelish had her beaten with a sword, or she had to come up with a very elaborate lie. Unfortunately, she was not in the right mind to do so.

Amaryllis softly laid a hand on her friend’s shoulder.

‘I can’t imagine how awful that must have been for you. Alayne. Back when you were wondering how you could become independent I hadn’t thought you were trying to get away from a situation. I’m sure Lord Willas would arrange something for you if you asked him. The Tyrells are really understanding and sweet.’

‘I’m already staying for the remainder of winter’, Alayne admitted.

‘You are! Why didn’t you tell me?’

‘I didn’t know when. He asked me to stay on right after I left the greenhouse three days ago.’

‘Girl!’ Amaryllis cried.

Alayne cringed at the brusque sound, and Amaryllis immediately looked regretful.

Alayne tried turning again, and managed to prop herself up on her shoulder and look at her friend properly.

‘Is there anything else you’ve got to tell me?’

Alayne shook her head and forced a smile.

Amaryllis had been so kind to her and she was lying straight to her face about almost everything. Amaryllis and Willas didn’t deserve to be treated that way.

‘No why?’

‘Because a certain heir was making his way towards your rooms last night’, Amaryllis sighed as she rolled her eyes.

‘He probably needed me for something’, Alayne explained.

‘Yes, sure. And it’s only because he needed you for _urgent matters of business_ that he lost his composure and fired a thousand questions when he heard you were hurt and demanded he be let in the room.’

Alayne’s eyes grew wide.

‘I let him in, you were in your nightgown but covered by a thousand blankets, so I ruled that was safe. That was fine right? He didn’t do anything inappropriate? Did he? Because if he did I’m so going to have to shout at my employer today’, Amaryllis declared with fake regret.

‘Not that I remember’, Alayne answered, digging through the foggy haze to find her memories.

‘He sat on my bed, took my hand. That’s all I remember.’

Amaryllis nodded.

‘Can be. Since he was with you I decided to go and get dinner, since I hadn’t eaten yet. I took quite a while, mind, and when I came back up, hours later, he was still sitting there holding your hand.’

Willas had sat at her bed for hours?

Alayne gaped at Amaryllis in disbelief.

‘Now you want to tell me there’s nothing between the two of you? That man has not given anyone who wasn’t his family over an hour of his attention in years! Yet he was fine wasting hours sitting beside your sleeping body. What do you call that? Being a nice lord?’

‘Well it was nice’, Alayne defended weakly.

‘Now it’s time for the truth. Come on. You tell me the truth about you and Lord Willas, and I tell you a bit of my truth.’

‘We might have agreed to spend the evenings together. Not, not in a s-sexual way! Just as… friends… with the occasional kiss.’

‘Oh Alayne’, Amaryllis sighed, looking torn on whether she had to be glad for her friend or worried.

‘So what is your truth?’ Alayne quickly asked.

‘Oh no, we’re discussing this first. Listen, Alayne, you’re what? Six-and-ten? And so awfully virginal you cannot even say the word “sexual” without blushing and stuttering. Now I don’t suspect our lord has bad intentions, but we all know he’s going to marry with a girl from some big fancy family unless he’s tempted so much that he’d be willing to ignore his father’s and grandmother’s. Your lord father is influential, but Lord Mace will want a girl from a good line. It’s the whole reason why Willas is so old and still unmarried.’

‘I know that. We know that. We know nothing can come of it.’

‘There’s a big difference between knowing and knowing, Alayne’, Amaryllis explained.

‘You might know that Lord Willas cannot marry you, but did you really agree to being with him in the full knowledge of what might grow between the two of you? What heartache you’re setting yourself up for once you’ll be separated? You are gambling with your feelings, and you will come out hurt. Is it worth the price?’

She’d worried about the exact same things, yet she felt oddly defensive now that her choice was being questioned.

‘Didn’t you tell me I should bag him if I could? And now you’re telling me this is an unwise thing to do.’

Amaryllis looked so unhappy and hurt at Alayne’s snipe that she mellowed.

‘I meant seducing him into marriage, not this. I’ve heard so many stories about women getting hurt this way’, Amaryllis apologized. ‘And I never expected either of you would actually have the balls to approach the other. You’re both too polite and virtuous for it.’

‘It’s just... I’ve been so lonely, not that you haven’t been a lovely friend Amaryllis! Oh by the seven, that was an awfully ungrateful thing to say. Please, I don’t mean it. I expressed myself wrongly. I love you. But it’s just that… I never felt like this before about anyone. And I never dared hope someone would care for me in such a way. I never even thought I could have this before I died’, Alayne said, stumbling through the words and jumping from one half formed thought to the next.

Her friend understood her though.

‘These are very uncertain times. I don’t blame you for trying to get everything out of life while you still can. But I just don’t want to see you hurt.’

‘I understand. I know somewhere deep down that I’m playing with fire… But I can’t help it. Well, I can. But I don’t want to.’

‘I’m not your master Alayne, you’re free to do as you please. But you’re young and inexperienced. I just wanted to tell you what I know.’

The guilt washed over the both of them in waves. It was only after a couple of minutes that Amaryllis found a new light topic to talk about.

‘So… you want to know where I was yesterday, while our lord was mooning over your sleeping face like some prince from a fairy-tale?’

Alayne raised her eyebrows.

‘I was with Garther!’ the young woman squealed.

‘No!’

‘Yes! Perhaps he feared being snowed in in his family keep without seeing another young woman for years. He probably imagined a dreary hard winter without marital pleasures. So he cracked and proposed. We’re betrothed!’

‘Oh Amaryllis, that’s such delightful news!’

‘I know!’

The girl fell back in Alayne’s bed, clutching her heart.

‘Is it possible to die of happiness?’

Alayne couldn’t even remember the last time she’d been fully and entirely happy, and simply shrugged.

‘I’ll have a name Alayne. I’ll finally have a name. And Tyrell, oh, never did a name sound sweeter.’

She remembered all the times the girl had told her about the discrimination she faced based on her name, all the times she was insulted, all the ways in which bastards their entire personalities were shaped by their status. She’d carried all that baggage since birth. No wonder she would be relieved to take her husband’s name.

The girl looked aside, her brown eyes twinkling with joy.

‘Perhaps if you can convince Lord Willas to kiss you for all of eternity you’ll get his name too. Then we’d share the same name. We would be family, even though Lord Willas and Garther are far removed from each other.’

‘Now you’re dreaming’, Alayne smiled sadly.

‘Well, I feel like one of my dreams came true yesterday, so why not this one?’

It was then, Alayne’s sense of justice, truthfulness and friendship overruled her fear of Lord Baelish and her own reason.

If she had waited a full twenty-four hours after consuming the dreamwine, she would have not done so, but Amaryllis had picked her time and topics well, and so by a stroke of luck, Alayne Stone took a hammer to the face and created the first crack in her bastard mask.

‘I would like that’, Alayne admitted. ‘But even without a shared name we would still be just as close, right?’

‘Sure. Maybe I will be able to help you to a position, if the many-faced-god is kind and Garther is granted a keep. You’re my friend.’

‘Amaryllis, I know you keep my secrets well, and you’ve taken very good care of me. But what if my secrets were bigger than they were now? Would you still keep them?’

‘Of course. Unless, of course, you admitted you murdered five hundred men. That would be a bit hard to digest, unless they totally deserved it.’

‘But what if I lied to you?’

‘I’d be hurt’, Amaryllis said without hesitancy. ‘You’d have to give a very good reason for lying to me, before I could forgive it. Not that I’m not forgiving, but I’d be hurt.’

Alayne bit her cheek and nodded.

‘Lord Baelish didn’t injure me.’

‘Okay?’ Amaryllis nodded, getting back into a sitting position.

Alayne struggled to sit upright as well, which she managed, supported by her pillows.

‘Lord Baelish is a very scary and powerful man. He’s dangerous, but he has not harmed me. He has been protecting me for these past seven months.’

‘Because he’s your father’, Amaryllis nodded.

‘He isn’t. It’s a story he made up so I would be safe. Men have bastards all the time, nobody would bat an eye if he had one.’

‘To be honest, most did bat an eye. Decades without any rumour about Littlefinger sleeping with either women or men and out of nowhere you appear? Everyone wondered why he accepted you and didn’t hide you. At least Lady Alerie did. We maids hear things when we’re in her room, you know. We just assumed Baelish had some use for you, and that that was why he made you known.’

‘Sounds logical’, Alayne admitted.

‘But so you are not Alayne Stone?’

Alayne shook her head.

At that moment, a deep feeling of betrayal jabbed Amaryllis’ heart.

She felt fooled, and silly. All the stories she’d told the girl about being a bastard felt stolen. All the times she’d comforted Alayne because she thought her bastard status bothered her and made her feel insecure felt like a joke. A bitter smile flashed across her face. Sansa knew what her friend must be feeling and turned her face away.

She didn’t want to see the kind face turn hateful.

‘Were you trained to be a septa?’

‘No’, she admitted softly.

This perplexed Amaryllis more than the discovery she was not Baelish’s daughter. Alayne was so pure, so devoted to the seven, a true blushing maiden. It had all made sense.

‘Is there anything you told me that’s true?’

‘My stories about the Eyrie, my age, my thoughts, my feelings, my interest in helping the people, my personality’, Alayne admitted. It was little, she knew.

Amaryllis nodded, but all remnants of happiness had disappeared from her face.

‘But I shall start by telling the truth now. I don’t want to lie to you anymore. You must know I had good reason to lie. If anyone found out I was here, I’d risk death. And if Littlefinger found out I told anyone, he’d kill me, or at least hurt me. I’m too useful to be killed probably. He’d just make me very miserable.’

‘But you said he helped you.’

‘He helped me escape a bad predicament, but as you said Littlefinger is selfish. He keeps me around because he has plans for me. He doesn’t do kindness’, Sansa said. And that was the first argument Amaryllis believed.

‘Who gave you those scars?’ she asked as she gave in to her curiosity and the sorry looks of her – was she still a friend ? – friend.

‘The kingsguard’, Sansa admitted.

‘Oh. My. No!’ Amaryllis cried, jumping out of the bed.

‘Amaryllis, _please_.’

Amaryllis turned away, stalked towards the window, but turned back again, pointing at her with her finger.

‘You were in King’s Landing?’

‘Yes.’

‘Recently?’

‘Before I went to the Eyrie.’

‘That’s a little over half a year ago. The Tyrells were there by then.’

‘They were.’

‘Did you meet them?’ she asked, her eyes narrowing.

‘All of them, except for Willas and Lady Alerie.’

‘I can’t believe this! Do they know? Do they know who you are? Are they playing along with Littlefinger?’

Sansa shook her head.

‘I came to Highgarden because someone in the Vale found out about my identity and sent a note to King’s Landing. Littlefinger sent men to track and kill him. He feared the man would reach King’s Landing and that the king’s would send men to kill us. By sending me away, there was no evidence if anyone came to check… I only came here because Baelish believed the Vale wasn’t safe because of the man I told you about. Since he couldn’t send me to the North or Riverlands, he reasoned this was the next best place to hide me. Since the people that had met me were far away from Highgarden.’

‘But they’ll come back.’

‘He intended for me to return soon. Before they would come back.’

‘But you’re staying for winter.’

Alayne nodded.

‘Say if Ser Garlan came back after defeating the Ironborn. Would he recognize you?’

‘I’m afraid so.’

‘What do you plan to do about that?’

‘I was hoping to find a solution by then.’

‘You would risk angering Lord Baelish just to stay here? And risk your own life staying here to avoid Baelish? Just who _are_ you that the king wants to arrest you?’

‘I’m Sansa Stark’, she admitted softly.

‘Seven bloody hells!’ cried Amaryllis.

The blonde was lost for words. Sansa watched Amaryllis as she paced through the room, halting and looking over her shoulder to check on Sansa every so often before continuing her restless stalking.

‘I apologize for lying. I just desperately wish to live, and telling people risked that.’

‘Clearly. Oh my god, despite your name and claim you were ready to take a servant’s just to stay here. How shite must your life have been to consider that. Or was that a lie?’

‘It wasn’t a lie.’

Amaryllis shook her head, continuing her pacing.

Suddenly she halted, a step removed from the wall, and turned towards her again.

‘But you blush like a maiden. You’re _married’_ , Amaryllis shout-whispered.

‘It’s annulled. And we never consummated it’, Sansa answered dryly.

‘Oh my god. The demon monkey, whoremonger of the seven kingdoms, did not consummate?’

‘He thought I was a child. And I was unwilling and quite a mess. My family just died.’

‘Oh my… your family!’ Amaryllis cried, as if she had only now considered that point.

‘Oh by the seven. I’d want to be someone else too if all my family got killed, I was kept hostage, and then married to the person who stood accused of killing the brat prince.’

Sansa huffed a laugh.

‘Are you _fine_?’ Amaryllis asked, her worry winning out from all the other thoughts swarming through her head.

‘Right now? Kind of. I mean, my back aches, I upset you, my fake life is crumbling around me and my real life is a mess. But I’ve had worse days the past few years.’

Amaryllis nodded and started walking again.

‘Alright, I have decided’, Amaryllis sighed, dropping into Sansa’s vanity chair.

‘What?’ Alayne asked, panic rising in her chest.

‘I have decided that indeed, given that your family is dead, there’s a price on your head, and you’re stuck with Lord Baelish, you did have plenty of good reasons to hide your identity. And it was probably wise that you did not blindly trust someone you just met.’

Sansa let out a breath of relief.

‘I shall keep your secrets.’

‘Thank you! Thank you. Please, I hope we can still be friends.’

‘Sure. I was thinking about how you lied about everything, but you never did talk much about your life before the past seven months. And I realized you had not told many lies, you had simply avoided telling anything about yourself. And now as a way to make up for it, you can tell me a lot of really interesting things about your family and your life before coming here.’

Sansa let out a laugh.

‘Is your mother really behind the Feast of Freys?’ Amaryllis questioned, eyes growing large.

‘My mother is dead. There was a hall full of Freys to confirm that. The dead do not come back to life, as much as I would wish it’, Sansa sighed.

‘Alright, well, that’s sad. It would have been awesome, and not in the least because your mother would have been alive. Another question: I wonder, how do those mythical figures from King’s Landing look?’ Amaryllis questioned.

Sansa laughed, Amaryllis was seriously trying to make up for the time not knowing the real Sansa. She decided to indulge her, the question was quite harmless.

‘Which ones?’

‘Like the Mountain, is he really that big?’

‘Very. He’s almost as tall as the ceiling of this room is high. You’d have to stack over two Tyrion Lannisters to get the height of one Mountain.’

‘Hah! About him, is he really as ugly and wicked as people say?’

‘He is not handsome. He has hair that is both black and white blond, and during the Battle of the Blackwater he got a scar running from one side of his face to the other. He’s lucky his nose was so small to begin with, or it would have been chopped clean off. And indeed, he’s very small. Comes up to about my chest. No, he’s not handsome. And he does drink a lot, and he can be cruel and snarky. But he was also kind. He always protected me and treated me kindly, even before we were married. And he hated Joffrey, but he did not kill him. He is not a kinslayer.’

‘And the hound? Is it true his skin still cracks and bleeds and he howls like a dog when he kills?’

Sansa blushed and spluttered.

‘What? Is it?’

‘No. Well yes, his skin sometimes cracks still, but he can’t help it. Poor man. It happened when he was a child and it still hasn’t healed. He feels awfully ashamed of it, always tried to keep it covered with his hair.’

‘When he was a child? I thought it happened in battle?’

Sansa bit her lip.

‘I tell you my secrets, but I shouldn’t tell you his. I already said too much.’

‘His secrets? You know secrets about the hound?’

Sansa didn’t answer.

‘Did Littlefinger tell you?’

Sansa remained silent.

‘Alayne, please, the truth. You don’t need to say more.’

‘No.’

‘Did he himself tell you?’

‘Yes.’

‘You talked with the hound?’ Amaryllis breathed, her hands slapped over her mouth to keep from shouting.

‘Yes.’

‘Oh my. How exciting! How was he? Were you scared?’

‘He was… Angry, mean, quick of temper. It scared me sometimes. But his bark is louder than his bite. Or at least to those who are innocent. He always tried to protect me.’

‘You’re blushing.’

Sansa bit away a smile.

‘My, The imp is kind to you, the Hound makes you blush, and our lord makes you swoon. Do you have a soft spot for broken things?’

If Sansa had been blushing before, she was blushing now.

‘I have a soft spot for people who treat me kindly, and whose acts are noble. In King’s Landing, devils wear the faces of saints. You learn not to judge a book by its cover.’

‘Is queen Cersei beautiful?’

‘As beautiful as she is mean.’

Amaryllis laughed and clapped her hands in delight.

As she was thinking of another question, her eyes twinkling with joy again, her face went slack-jawed, her mouth dropping open before she perked up again.

‘Oh my god Alayne! I mean, Sansa… Lady Stark? You’re Sansa Stark of Winterfell. Do you know what that means?’

‘Please, just Sansa. Although preferably not too loud and never outside of these walls’, Sansa pleaded. ‘What do you believe it means?’

‘I believed getting Lord Willas to propose to you would be hard given your lowborn status, even though you were doing quite a good job of seducing him, given that you are the only one he ever let close in years. But if you are a lady, you can marry him!’

‘A traitor lady that comes along with an ancestral home that has been signed over to another family, a crown that means I should go to war against the iron throne, and a kingdom that is currently being occupied by a Baratheon king. And that’s if he gets over being lied to.’

‘Alright, things could be better, but still.’

‘A bastard would have an easier time marrying Lord Willas than I would. At least she doesn’t come with all that baggage.’

‘How could it go away, that baggage?’ Amaryllis asked.

‘I don’t know, that’s the misery. I’ve tried to think of ways I could go back home. Ways I could take back my name. But there’s no way I can do so without being the enemy of the entire realm, including half of the North. I don’t know how many northern lords would defend me and fight for me. We must not forget it is winter. That’s an awful time to fight, especially in the North.’

‘So are you going to be Alayne Stone until Spring? It seems kind of sad that a Stark would have to sit out winter.’

Alayne laughed.

‘I can’t have Winterfell, because legally, Winterfell belongs to the Boltons now. So even if I forsake Robb’s will – I’m his only living relative so I must be his heir – then taking back Winterfell would mean going against the crown.’

‘Yes, true. But technically if you didn’t take back Winterfell, you could return to the North. As long as you are no longer sought by the crown.’

‘But where would I go?’

Amaryllis shrugged.

‘Okay, I give up. You know, you are smart staying here. It seems trouble awaits you everywhere else. Don’t return to Littlefinger. We’ll keep you safe from him. And this North business seems confusing. Perhaps waiting will solve the problem. Take Stannis Baratheon. Everyone is just waiting until he freezes to death in the North. Or take Garther, he just has to wait until enough people die in the war, and then he can get a keep. Perhaps Stannis Baratheon and that Bolton guy will have a big fight and kill each other. Then you could take Winterfell without going against the crown.’

‘What are the odds?’ Sansa laughed.

After their conversation, Amaryllis helped Sansa into some loose smallclothes and a thick supple dress. There were no laces on it, as she couldn’t bear them right now with her bruises. A slow walk underneath the colonnade around the inner courtyard was all she managed, but she still delighted in the Fresh air and herbal scent of the outdoors. Lea and Naera were there as well, and she finally got acquainted with the girls she had met a couple of days before solstice. She nodded politely at some of the women who usually worked with her as well, and softly answered their concerned questions.

After an hour though, the ache grew too strong, and she returned to her chambers. Amaryllis was called away to tend to something, and in her absence, a knock sounded on the other side of Sansa’s door.

‘My lady, Lord Willas Tyrell requests your presence during his dinner.’

‘Oh, fine. I shall leave a note for my friend, then I come.’

She quickly scribbled down that Amaryllis needn’t wait for her to eat dinner, before following the servant.

The servant opened the door and quickly closed it behind her again.

‘Ah, there you are. I apologize, it was perhaps a bit impetuous of me, but I thought you might enjoy not having to walk far for your meal. How are you today?’ Lord Willas asked, labouredly walking over to her from the table to guide her to her seat.

He had put up a dinner table on the second floor library with great care. A delicious scent was already seducing her nose.

‘That is very kind of you, my lord. I am a little sore, but generally well.’

‘Excellent’, he smiled as he sat down.

As he sat down, easily pouring some white wine in her cup, she noticed how his hair stuck out at odd angles, and his fine clothes were rumpled.

‘How are you doing today?’

‘Busy, as always.’

‘Anything in particular?’

‘If you wish to know, I’ve made myself sore from running to the window every time I heard a raven screech.’

‘Why?’

‘My sister’s trial started today. I’ve been hoping to catch a bit of news. The servants of the aviary immediately report to me. So there was no need for me to keep on checking. Yet, I was impatient. I hoped with every screech the bird from King’s Landing had arrived. But it was never so. My running to the window didn’t change anything about that, but I couldn’t help myself.’

‘You care about her, it’s only normal.’

Willas lifted the lid off of the casserole on his plate, revealing a thick white sauce laden with pieces of fragrant fish. Alayne lifted her lid as well, saliva pooling in her mouth.

Willas unceremoniously dunked a chunk of bread into the casserole.

‘I do love a good piece of fish’, he sighed after he’d swallowed his first piece.

‘And the good thing is that even when the rivers and lakes are frozen, fish can be caught’, Alayne smiled.

‘Of course, the sea is not even a day removed. And the sea doesn’t freeze’, Willas said.

Alayne cringed. Another mistake. She was supposed to be from a seaside town. The sea hadn’t frozen over in hundreds of years. Why would she even think of fishing through a hole in the ice? That was a Northern thing to do.

Willas was smirking at her, and she hoped it was only because she had forgotten how close Highgarden was to the sea, instead of her forgetting what winters were like in a harbour town up north.

Alayne was quick to lead their conversation somewhere safe again. She couldn’t have him linger on her mistakes.

‘Do you honestly fear for your sister?’

‘Well yes.’

‘Do you believe she is guilty?’

‘It doesn’t matter what I believe. The verdict will be whatever the Faith decides. And people can be bought and corrupted.’

Alayne nodded.

‘But I have thought about it. All crimes she’s been accused of. First, there’s the lewdness. My sister is a sweet girl, who acts pious and sweet. No one in their right minds could accuse her of lewdness.’

‘Unless they took issue with her dress’, Sansa said. ‘At least, from what I’ve seen since my arrival, the women put on a lot less fabric than they do up north’, Alayne added quickly.

‘Everyone wears less clothes than they do in the Vale, I reckon’, Willas smiled.

Alayne blushed, meekly picking at her fish. It did taste amazing though.

‘You’re right though. Almost a year ago my sister wrote to me how Queen Cersei had critiqued her clothes’, Willas mused.

‘Anyway, the next points. Fornication and adultery. Those are just ridiculous. Have you met her?’ Willas asked rhetorically. Alayne had almost nodded her head, but realized in time and merely shrugged.

‘She just instantly connects with people, she has that gift, you know? Of course people are drawn to her. And she’ll dance with men at a party, what girl doesn’t?’

Alayne merely smiled. Margaery had been such a good dancer.

‘She even sleeps in the maiden vault to avoid such accusations. She keeps a whole swarm of girls around her day and night to make her unapproachable to men. It also gives her at least a dozen witnesses, in case anyone would dare to accuse her of doing something. But then Cersei fixed that by accusing Margaery’s maids and friends as well. If that septon has any sense, he’ll see how impossible those accusations are.’

‘Did they not say her maidenhood was broken?’

‘But that was not because she…’ Willas passionately defended before he cut himself off abruptly.

‘Did they lie, about her being a maiden while married to Renly? Or did she actually break it while horseback riding?’

‘To be honest, it could be both. I didn’t exactly enquire whether she bled on her wedding night.’

‘She had a wedding night?’

‘Their rooms were adjoining, they could go to each other’s rooms. I know they did, if only to try and procure an heir.’

‘If it really need be, Margaery can own up to that. We just thought it would be a convenient lie to sell her to the Lannisters… perhaps we should have just told them the truth. Then I might have still had her with me, instead of on trial far away.’

Alayne’s slid her hand towards his across the table, offering him a comforting smile.

‘I’ve never heard anything but good about her. Only Queen Cersei believes her to be bad and immoral. Surely they’ll see that.’

‘She bribed her cronies to confess to sleeping with my sister. She had Pycelle lie about providing her with moon tea. These people have confessed. Their confessions are evidence’, Willas said, his free hand going back up between his growing mane of hair.

‘My lord, my lord! A raven from King’s Landing!’ a scrawny tall lad cried as he stormed into the room, all awkward limbs.

Willas immediately came upright, walking over to the boy without his cane.

‘Thank you!’

 _He’ll be back in his chair tomorrow_ , Alayne mused.

Willas immediately started reading the letter as he walked back towards the dinner table, eating as he read.

Alayne was quickly reaching the bottom of her own casserole as well, watching his lively facial expressions. So mild and vulnerable was his face, and so heart-breaking were his frowns. His lip trembled, his brow quivered, and she could even discern flashes of anger. It intrigued and attracted her.

After a couple of minutes he gave a solemn nod.

‘So it is. It’s all I could have hoped for’, he decided.

‘No good news?’ she asked softly, referring to a previous conversation of theirs.

‘No such thing,’ he said, ‘but it’s tolerable.’

‘It is done? She is free?’

‘The first part of the charge has been declared ungrounded’, he said, extending the letter to her.

Alayne froze.

‘I- I’m allowed?’ she stuttered.

‘It’s a lot to summarize and my food is getting cold. There’s no private information. Everything will become known to the public soon.’

_“Dear Willas,_

_I wish I could write to you with joyful news, my sweet brother. The news is not joyful, however it is not awful, and I suppose I must be grateful. This morning has given me hope that there still exists such a thing as justice in King’s Landing._

_This morning the first session of the trial took place in the Great Sept of Baelor, and the first accusations were dealt with. The High Septon has done his best to interview all people who Queen Cersei linked to my sins, and has done his best to collect the truest interviews with all that could be called witness. They started with the most serious account, High Treason._

_It destroys me that anyone would think I would willingly lose a husband. King Joffrey had been good to me, to stand accused of killing him wounds me grievously. If it hadn’t been for our families insisting I married sweet little King Tommen, I would have taken months to mourn._

_The early and unexpected death of Grand Maester Pycelle did not ruin the trial, since the High Sparrow had a written account of a testimony, signed by Pycelle._

_Pycelle declared it was possible I deliberately drank poison together with moontea (another outrageous claim, I never slept with anyone, I don’t understand how anyone could believe so) to gain resistance to some kind of poison used to kill Joffrey. However, the High Sparrow pointed out that Maester Pycelle also believed Tyrion Lannister to be responsible for my husband’s death. He claims Pycelle’s account cannot be trusted due to this. He had apparently written to the maesters of Oldtown as well, asking if it was possible to gain resistance by drinking poison on the regular. And specifically asked for the poison called the Strangler. The maesters ruled it most unlikely that one could ever become resistant to the Strangler. Then witnesses of the wedding were called forward to tell the people and the seven judges how I had acted and what I had done. The seven judges and the High Sparrow then closed the meetings and went into deliberation._

_Their ruling came an hour ago. They decided I was not guilty of treason. And surprisingly, only one person stands accused of treason against King Joffrey, while before it was three! Only fugitive Lord Tyrion Lannister remains. Oh Willas, you cannot imagine the relief I feel. And the good sweet kind people of King’s Landing, who have been defending me and crying for justice for weeks, cheered and then all went inside to pray. Oh Willas, I wish I only held the heart of my good-mother the way I held the heart of the people. They are too good and kind._

_I fear for them come winter, they have suffered so much. I want them to stay healthy and well. I’ve shared these concerns with the High Sparrow who, despite being neutral in regards to my trial, I found very agreeable and understanding. He stands uncorrupted Willas, and wants to do good. He loathes the way the Faith has become void of meaning, and how the men and women of Westeros have forsaken their morals. He wants to guide the people back to the light of the seven, and back to the good. I share his wish, for if everyone adopted the morals preached by the Faith, the world would be a better place._

_I believe sweet King Tommen and I may find an ally in him. And it is clear his message is supported by the people as well, the supporters of the sparrows have grown so. To be honest with winter here, I agree with him that we should spend less on grand tourneys and flashy feasts. It would be good if the realm was led by virtuous sober people in winter. It is not the time for decadence._

_Tomorrow the lewdness and fornication and adultery claims will be addressed of both me and our cousins. The day after a final verdict will be given. I pray the mother may have mercy, and I pray to the father the verdict will be just._

_I hope that after all of this is over, and my sweet husband has managed to reinstall the peace, I could come home for the new year, just for a week, my people need me in King’s Landing after all. I would so love to see all of you again._

_A lot of love from me._

_And the kind greetings of Leonette, Alla, Elinor, Megga, Alysanne, Lady Alyce and her little boy Tywin, Meredyth and Aunt Janna and uncle Jon._

_May the seven bless you Willas,_

_Queen Margaery Baratheon”_

The first thing that struck Alayne was the amount of affection that was clear in this letter. It was not out of character for Margaery. As a matter of fact, the entire voice of the letter was so entirely Margaery she could even imagine her speaking the words. Yet, the wording felt stiff there where it was clear she wrote things in case the letter got intercepted.

She pitied the young woman. She did not envy her at all. Despite her wealth and the power held by her family, she was still being tried and it was clear she was nervous about it. Sansa Stark would have simply broken underneath the stress of it all.

Last, her eyes remained glued to the sixth paragraph.

It was hard to tear her eyes away, and she only managed when Willas harshly bumped his spoon against his casserole.

‘This is good news, is it not? One part has passed safely.’

‘I won’t cheer until it is fully over’, Willas answered carefully.

‘I understand’, Alayne said softly.

‘I only wonder about this paragraph. What does Queen Margaery mean here, where she writes: “ _only one person stands accused of treason against King Joffrey, while before it was three.”_?’

‘You must know, before Cersei thought of accusing Margaery, she accused Lord Tyrion and his wife.’

Alayne bit her lip.

‘The missing girl?’

‘Yes’, Willas answered, a sharp glimmer in his eyes.

‘How could she get absolved in the process of another woman?’ she asked.

‘Perhaps because they ran over all evidence, and no one mentioned anything about Sansa Stark doing anything. It was a silly notion to begin with, anyways. She didn’t do it’, Willas shrugged.

Sansa blinked in confusion.

‘But our families did it though. My lord father and your grandmother arranged to kill Joffrey.’

‘Yes’, Willas frowned.

‘So?’

‘Well technically you did make Sansa Stark an accomplice by putting the poison in her hair’, Alayne pointed out.

‘The … What? No. The poison wasn’t in her hair.’

‘It was! Lord Baelish told me so. He made someone give Sansa Stark a hairnet with purple stones from Asshai. Then Lady Olenna came to the girl and took a stone from the hairnet. She must have put it in Joffrey’s goblet.’

Willas his face was such a horrifying mixture of confusion and disbelief Alayne regretted ever speaking of it. The murder plot had hung between them for months, both knowing it had happened and how, but now it appeared they did not know at all.

_Had Lady Olenna never told her grandson how it happened?_

‘That is not how it went.’

‘Why would my father lie to me?’

‘Why indeed! I wonder’, Willas said as he got up from the table again. He slowly made his way over to the staircase.

‘We’re done eating, let’s continue our conversation on the couches by the fireplace’, he proposed.

Alayne hovered by his side all the way to the stairs, and carefully remained behind his back to catch him should his leg give up.

‘My lord, mind your leg.’

‘I know’, he growled.

‘That’s why I’m going upstairs. I can just feel it worsening every second. I have to get to my floor before my knee freezes completely. I don’t want to be carried up.’

Alayne understood and said no more of it.

‘Your father lied to you’, he began as he climbed the circling wrought iron stairs.

‘My grandmother could have never subtly dropped the poison in the cup. Nor could it have been the Strangler. He would have died within a matter of minutes. There’s no way he could have walked towards the end of that table and spent some minutes bullying his uncle before he choked.’

‘Then how?’

Willas plopped down on the long green couch, propping his bad leg up with a couple of pillows. It was clear from his frown he didn’t particularly like talking about the regicide or having to take care of his leg in front of her, but she would not back down.

‘My sister had the poison in her ring’, he admitted.

‘But the claim of treason was…’

‘Well, none of the witnesses knew the truth’, Willas shrugged. ‘That’s the entire point of a secret murder plot. No one is supposed to find out.

‘But if that’s true, then why did my father tell me it was your grandmother? And why did King Joffrey choke?’

‘Those are the real questions.’

‘What could he gain from telling you they decided to frame Sansa Stark and Lord Tyrion?’ Lord Willas questioned.

Sansa Stark shrugged powerlessly. Even Alayne was too innocent to understand Baelish’s reasoning in allowing her to believe that lie.

‘I do not know why my grandmother touched y-Sansa Stark’s hair. But I do know the basics of the plot. We granted Lord Baelish a sum some years ago so he could start his brothel. That price was almost fully repaid, but the final part was turned into a favour instead of a price in gold. And so as he came to us whispering about marrying Margaery to that cruel prince while his pawns whispered to us about Joffrey’s bad behaviour, it became clear Joffrey needed to be disposed. Lord Baelish came to us with a confession. He planned on killing Tyrion Lannister. That’s how it goes, you offer some dangerous information to someone, and they give you dangerous information in return. Then we admitted we would rather see Joffrey gone. The deal was that Lord Baelish would secure us a slow-acting poison so that the purchase couldn’t be traced back to us. And we would only go through with our plans to kill Joffrey once we were sure Baelish would kill Tyrion. Because if we killed Joffrey, and Baelish didn’t kill Tyrion, Baelish would be able to accuse us of high treason, while we wouldn’t have anything against him to keep him from speaking out. It was agreed upon both would get poisoned during the wedding.’

Willas frowned, looking at the flames in the fireplace before letting his gaze travel to Alayne. She sat on the floor right next to the couch. Looking at him with her great blue eyes, full of disbelief and interest.

‘My grandmother couldn’t write about it to me, of course. It’s too risky and she doesn’t bother encoding her letters. But I assumed she must have discovered how Baelish was going to kill Tyrion Lannister, since my family went through with the plot. But then Lord Tyrion didn’t die. While Joffrey did. And the way Joffrey was described to have died… That sounded like choking. Not at all like he should have died from our poison. I assumed he had literally choked.’

‘So Margaery who sat next to Joffrey was supposed to kill him. While Tyrion was supposed to be killed by…’ Alayne said slowly, not noticing that she was forgetting the correct titles for these people who were far above her bastard station.

‘Well, you said Lady Sansa had a hairnet full of poison’, Willas pointed out.

‘Are you sure Baelish didn’t lie about that?’

Lord Baelish had lied to her, and though it troubled her that she did not know the reason for it, she was glad all the same that today one of the main reasons why she had to rely on him had disappeared. Perhaps she could use her name again in the close future.

She still remembered noticing the empty holder of one of the dark gemstones. She shook her head in response to Willas.

‘No, she did wear the poisoned hairnet.’

‘Well then, I can only assume that the poison sat right beside the intended victim.’

‘The poison in the goblet wasn’t meant to kill King Joffrey’, Alayne said, slowly catching on.

Willas nodded.

‘Oh! Oh. King Joffrey only started dying once he had been talking to Lord Tyrion for a couple of minutes. And after eating his pie. And then he choked on the pie… Could it have been? No! Can it?’

‘Joffrey choked on the poison intended for Tyrion Lannister.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up: Garlan POV. 
> 
> I've been working on the next few chapters for months, they were some of the chapters I had prepared from the get-go, but they're very difficult to write. And on top of that my poor laptop will soon die, or have the screen and battery replaced. And I also have to move this week as well :p So the next few chapters might take a little longer. 
> 
> Thank you all for all your sweet comments up until now, I try responding to most personally since I want to show how much I appreciate the effort taken to leave words of kindness. Right now I just want to give a general kudo to everyone who ever left a comment before. They really got me through a rough patch and managed to make me smile on days when little else did. I'm glad you enjoy this story with me and I hope you have as much fun reading as I have writing.


	16. Battle of Oldtown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Garlan has just retaken the Shields and moves towards Oldtown. Euron Greyjoy is nearing in. It is time the Reach takes revenge for all the losses the Grejoys have caused. But Euron isn't going down without a fight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is really important and contains a lot of references and unsubtle foreshadowing so do take a nice cup of tea or coffee for a thorough read.
> 
> I’ve never before written a battle like this. And to be honest I don’t think I will anytime soon. This was the most I’ve ever struggled with a single chapter. I hope you enjoy x

_**Garlan POV: The Battle of Oldtown** _

Across the shimmering black river stood a keep of smooth grey stone, with seven beautiful defensive towers, one on each corner of the keep. It was built only two centuries ago, and was shaped like a sept.

The shapes on the flags were clouded in darkness, but he knew that just across the water, high and proud, smug fox faces were looking down on him.

Taunting him just out of reach.

‘Is the day that lost that you have isolated yourself to mope over your castle?’ asked Ser Hugh Beesburry as he dropped next to him in the grass. Just like Garlan, he was dressed in simple light clothes in his house colours made for walking. Both were huddled in thick doublets with their coat of arms.

‘I cannot let my men see me like this, it is bad for the morale’, Garlan explained.

‘You will not become better for the morale if you keep on looking at that’, Ser Hugh quipped before lifting his skin to his lips and taking a swig of wine.

‘Nor will looking at my letters or discussing Oldtown’, laughed Garlan.

‘Come, you’ve received as much good news as you have received bad news lately’ said Lord Hunt fatherly.

Garlan took a deep breath and accepted that solitude was out of the question. One day, he’d have to ask Willas how he avoided people. His older brother had a knack for only being found when he wanted to.

Lord Hunt was three decades older than him, and too stiff to sit down easily. But the man did not let it show, and instead casually leant on the three Garlan was sitting against.

‘Just like the disappearance of the great comet has not taken all stars from the night sky, so has this loss not removed all good news’, he continued.

‘For example, I could be sad that my youngest son is in the Riverlands, far away from my protection and at the risk of being killed. But I could also be glad my Alyn married Lianne Vance. All that running around killing outlaws has gained him a pretty heiress. I kept my oldest in the keep out of safety, but now the second one is better off’, the old man laughed.

‘I congratulate you, Lord Hunt. It is a happy thing to find a pretty and fair maid, especially an heiress. I shall pray that the mother grants them many children and a pleasant home. However, I pity the girl’s luck up until now. This war has already made many female heirs. Even our own wives and sisters may indeed become heirs if this war goes south for us.’

‘This war does go south for us’, Hugh Beesburry joked. Garlan rolled his eyes and hit the back of Beesburry’s head.

‘You have a pretty wife Garlan, and a pregnant one. Your sister has come out of her trial unscathed. Your eldest brother keeps the supply chains supplied with an abundance of food and is ensuring that while we are fighting the war, we’ll have warm homes and stocks of food to return to. Your youngest brother must by now have almost reached the estuary of the Mander and will ensure the Shields are protected and the Mander defended. And you have an incredible army at your command. The Ironborn King has lost many men. And the ironmen were never large in number to begin with. His brother has sailed across the Narrow Sea with part of the fleet as well. He can have no more than twelve thousand men, while you have over twenty. Count your blessings, Lord Garlan, for they are many. We’ll defeat those pirates , and you will be reunited with your wife in no time.’

Garlan loved the man for his optimism, and indeed he did feel some remorse for sulking. He knew that on the outside, everything looked to be in his favour. Part of the reason why he had come out here to think was because he felt ungrateful for his blessings. He knew he could not complain while others had seen their entire house disappear. Yet, he could not shake the feeling that all was not well. He wanted to be an optimist. He wanted to celebrate the successful end of his sister’s trial and his wife’s pregnancy, but something told him it would be premature to do so.

He did not want to make his men down, but Lord Hunt was one of his commanders, so he could speak frankly to him. _Men who feared for their lives fought better._ He had learned. Back in the days of Renly’s campaign it had all felt like a game.

‘This _pirate_ with _only_ twelve thousand men has crushed a third of the Redwyne fleet as far as we know. And our information runs almost a day behind. Sixty-six heavily armed warships are lost because Lord Redwyne understandably reasoned that they were enough to rid the Ryamsport, Vinetown and Staefish Harbor of the ironborn. But no, they were all destroyed, just like the dozen warships the Redwynes had left behind to protect the Arbor in the first place. And this is far from the first time a Greyjoy has managed, by deceit and cunning, to attack and destroy stronger opponents. The Shields, the Arbor, the Redwyne fleet. How many more examples do we need before we realize their threat?’

Garlan had managed to keep the spite and panic out of his voice, and tried to minimalize the sulking and rage that was natural to all Tyrell men.

‘That still leaves two thirds of the fleet, the seven faced god had mercy on us. All of those ships could have gone to reclaim their homeports and stock fresh supplies. Instead most sailed straight for the mainland. One of your Hightower uncles has been building ships as well. Do you not trust him to defend his city? I think we can take them on.’

‘Well, he has been cooped up with his crazy daughter in that tower for years’, Beesburry noted. ‘We’ve been hearing stories about mysterious lights behind the windows of the Hightower for years in Honeyholt.’

‘My grandfather is a wise man, not some crazed magician’, Garlan defended.

He calmed himself and took a deep breath.

‘He married four of the noble houses in the south of the Reach himself and married his sons and daughters to the others. He managed to draw in even the most exotic of vendors, and has increased the profits of Oldtown by half during his lifetime. He started preparing for an attack before my brother Willas even wrote to him. I admit he has his quirks, but he is no fool. He is the smartest man I know, even my brother is a not-so-close second to him.’

His grandmother had always wondered what the father of her good-daughter was up to. She didn’t trust his game, and had often tried finding out his secrets, be it his method for getting very good trade deals, which the Redwynes had always been jealous of, or his marital politics.

‘Smart, but does he know enough of battle?’ asked Beesburry.

‘The man has decades of life experience, a large family full of sons who fight, a good amount of household knights and a bloody army of maesters filled to the brim with knowledge of military history. I’d say he knows what to do just fine’, huffed Lord Hunt.

Garlan sighed. He had not come here for more discussions.

Looking up, he noticed a bright star and thought back of the start of the conversation.

‘I apologize for my sulking, gentlemen. Indeed I should be positive. We took the Ironmen by such surprise they had no time to send ravens to their brethren down south. If they decide to flee back to their rocks after we are done with them, my brother and his men shall await them. And I doubt they have friends in the Reach who send them word of our march. They surprised us a couple of times, now it is our turn. By the time they have made the trip from Arbor to Oltown, we’ll be ready. They’re good on their boats, and they’re good at taking enemies in an ambush, but how will they fare against a fully settled army?’ Garlan smiled as he stood.

‘If you excuse me, I’ll go and pray now. Indeed I must thank the mother and the father for blessing my family’, Garlan announced.

He was not alone in the stone sept. Many fellow soldiers sought spiritual guidance tonight. The young prayed for support, as the blood they had shed on the Shield Islands still lay heavy on their hands. But Garlan was too used to the killing by now, both his armour and Renly’s held stains that would not wash out. Instead he walked straight to the simple stone sculpture of the Mother.

Garlan put three silvers in the collection boxes and took three long prayer candles and lit them on the thick multicoloured one burning in front of the Mother one by one.

‘Mother Above, font of mercy, you have brightened my life with the gift of life. Please watch over my wife. She is young and afraid, and I cannot be there for her right now. Guard her well in my absence, I pray. She does not deserve to be widowed young. Nor does she deserve to lose a babe before it’s born. Let her be well, so I may see her and my heir soon.’

He put the candle down on one of the iron pins sticking out around the Mother’s feet. The air was heavy with Frankincense and Myrrh. The smoke gave an ethereal glow to the candlelight, concealing the ceiling behind glowing fragrant clouds. 

He crouched down, hands folded and face turned upwards towards the Mother. The stone face held his gaze and made him shift. He felt uneasy and uncomforted. He could barely remember the face of the painted porcelain Mother from the sept in Highgarden, but knew her expression was comforting and soothing. He’d visited many septs on his journeys. Some held wooden statues, some only sketches on paper, and others were bare except for the stained glass windows in which the faces of the seven were depicted. In the end they were all septs, and his prayers were just the same, so it didn’t really matter.

Sitting down on both his knees, he sent up a prayer before lighting his second candle.

‘Mother Above, bless my gentle mother Alerie. She leads her life with virtue and grace, I pray she can hold all of her children in her arms again one day soon.’

He placed the candle down and whispered another prayer before lighting the third.

‘Gentle mother, watch out for my little sister Margaery. I am forever grateful the Father’s judgement ruled. The High Sparrow proved as pious and incorruptible as the Father, and for that I can only be grateful. I am so relieved my sister lives to see another day. It is not that my faith deserted me and I mistrusted you, but King’s Landing sometimes seems void of piety and filled with demons. May she now be able to focus on being a wife and a good and gentle ruler.’

He placed down his final candle.

‘Our country is suffering. Families have been torn apart, lands scorched and villages destroyed. Winter has come, and the people need protection, peace and spiritual guidance. Have mercy on us, so we may heal after this war.’

He collected his thoughts for a minute, recollecting the faces of his female family members.

He missed his mother’s guidance.

He missed Margaery’s jokes and the games they played.

And he missed Leonette for so many reasons. Engaged for two years and married for two, but they had spent more time apart than together since they had wed. And now the mother had finally blessed them with a child. If they were lucky, theirs would be the first child of a new generation of Tyrell children. It thrilled and frightened him.

Should something happen to his father, and that was possible if the war continued, then Willas was the heir.

Should something happen to Highgarden, than Garlan became the heir.

And should something happen to the three of them, which was possible since war and winter were dangerous, his child could be the heir to house Tyrell.

Just three years ago, they had all felt so sure. Their father was young, and they had been four young adults. Back then the future had seemed so far away, the horizon limitless. In just three years, it had become clear how fragile dynasties were. Now they were adults, all at risk of losing their lives, some way or another.

He pushed himself up and walked towards the Warrior, buying multiple candles again. It was clear most men had prayed to the Warrior. The walls of the vault in which his statue stood were entirely covered in rows of burning candles, their wax dripping hot and white on the ceiling, cooling there in the colour of bones and the shape of water.

‘Oh mighty warrior, I pray to thee to lend support to my brother Loras. Guide his sword and courage, he is yet young and rash, though strong and able. Protect him so he may be the blade that stands between the enemy and the people. May he shield them from harm.’

He lit a second candle.

‘Mighty Warrior, I thank you for the courage you bestowed my men during the taking of the Shields. Please, give my men strength in the days to come. I don’t know whether I’ll have time to visit a sept tomorrow. I sorely wish my men will be safe, strong and courageous, that they don’t forsake their vows, duty and faith in the hour of need.’

He placed a third candle on the last remaining pin. He still held another candle. He could only pray for one more person. He doubted the Seven would care for such formalities. They probably listened just as well when it was just him praying in his rooms without candles, yet he felt he had to make a choice between asking the Warrior for his own victory, or blessings for his grandfather.

‘Mighty Warrior, bless my grandfather and all his men. Give the town of Oldtown strength, vigour, courage. May all those who guard Oldtown to save its people live to see another day after having done their duty.’

He decided that was as good a combination as he could manage. The core of his prayer was still his grandfather Lord Leyton.

Then Garlan prayed to the Smith so that their weapons would not fail them in their hour of need, and that the ships on their side would be strong and safe.

He prayed to the crone so that she might guide him towards the wisest battle strategies and he prayed to the Stranger that whatever the unknown and unknowable was that lay in his future, would turn out alright, and that the Stranger be kind to him. He never liked praying to the Stranger, but would not wish to invoke the wrath of the face of Death. He was a warrior, he refused to shy away from the Stranger. He also prayed to the maiden to guard his sister’s innocence. He did not want King’s Landing to corrupt her, or any uncouth business to befall her. She was too young, she did not need to become jaded and corrupted so soon.

At last he arrived back at the front of the church. The final vault, right across the mother, held a tall stained glass window with a dark bearded man dressed in green. Underneath it his image was carved from stone.

‘Father Above, yesterday you judged right from wrong, your judgement was as always fair and good. Thank you for seeing that justice was given to my sister.’

He placed the candle on the iron spike and lit another.

‘Father, I pray my father Mace Tyrell, like you, possesses the power to know right from wrong. May as Hand he defend the poor and the weak, guide him and strengthen his resolve to do good for everyone. I know my father did not always protect the weak as he ought, and was more concerned with power than justice and righteousness. But let those days be over now, and wisdom find him at his old age. He is a good man. He just needs guidance and humility. I love him so. If it is your will, let me see him again.’

He took a deep breath and lit his penultimate candle.

‘Father Above, tomorrow evening I might see another battle unfold, or the day after if you will it so. Give me strength to see that justice and peace are achieved. Give me the strength to defend your children. I will fight for them until my dying breath. If I must give my life to save another, I will accept my fate. Use me as your vessel to deliver Westeros from this plague that seeks to torment people at the start of winter after years of hardship.’

He let out a breath. He didn’t like the thought of dying. He feared it more than he ever did before. He’d never had so much to lose. He had a wife. A child on the way. His family in Highgarden. And a keep that would soon be his. He could be so happy. He was happy, but he could be powerful and great and happy. It was all right within reach.

But he knew it was selfish to wish for a keep and a babe upon his lap. There was a war to be fought, and he could not let the heart of knowledge and devotion of Westeros be laid to waste.

The last candle was lit, the flame small and yellow, moving to a breeze Garlan had yet to feel.

‘Father Above, I pray for my brother Willas. He is… he’s always been smart… And I know he wants to do good. He’s been ruling Highgarden for almost a year now… Give him the strength to continue. Govern Highgarden through him, let him govern our kingdom with justice and mercy as a father would rule his children. And do let him rule as a father. This burden is too heavy to bear alone. I wish he had someone who is there for him, who understands him and tempers him and loves him… and cares for him when he is too busy to care for himself. I can’t be there for him anymore. I wonder often how he does it, there alone for months on end. If it weren’t for Leonette and the thought of her, I wouldn’t know how to get through certain days…’ Garlan trailed off, tiredness finally hitting him after a day of marching and hard news.

‘Just… please, Father. Have mercy on us all. We are just mortals trying to live in your image.’

With a heavy sigh he slammed the candle on its prick.

He left the sept and didn’t look back.

From the top of the Hightower Garlan could see the whole city, the sea and the hinterland for miles and miles. But not, as it was claimed, all the way to the Wall, not even to Highgarden.

What he could see though, were the red sails of the Redwyne fleet sailing towards them, fewer than expected, fewer than hoped. The message they had received the previous day had been wrong.

Earlier this afternoon he’d arrived on the Honeywine docks together with the first part of his army. It looked a sight as armoured men and their horses drifted in on merchant vessels, ferries, large galleys and fishing ships, along with the few larger ships they had commandeered. His foot army went by pleasure barges, small galleys and sloops. And all those who could not fit on the boats, were marching down the Honeywine towards Oldtown. Some would only arrive by foot in a couple of days, but most would be picked up by the returning boats along the way. He preferred having half of his army to none of them being present when the ironborn arrived.

But he did have the mind to send a part of his supply train, scorpions and trebuchets up ahead since he hadn’t needed them during his retaking of the Shields. Because of that the usually slow moving part of his army had arrived and made camp first.

Right as he set foot on the dock two men with towers on their clothes had approached him asking him to follow them to the Hightower. Garlan had followed them and had smiled when he noticed his camp in the distance.

He was escorted past the deliberately barricaded streets of Oldtown meant to slow down the ironborn raiders.

Past the beach with man high sharp wooden poles sticking out of the sea.

Past the promenade lined with trebuchets, wooden watchtowers and scorpions.

Past houses with wooden panels on the flat roofs behind which bowmen could hide.

Past the heavily guarded docks filled with huge new military ships.

Up the spiralling staircase that went on forever.

Even he of prime health struggled to catch his breath by the time he reached the second before last floor of the Hightower. He now understood why Leyton Hightower rarely went down.

‘You’re standing so you’re obviously not Willas, and you’re too old to be Loras. So you’re Garlan then hm? Bit changed since I last saw you.’

Garlan turned away from the panoramic window where he’d been searching for weak spots in Lord Leyton’s defences, but he had yet to find them.

‘The beard is new’, Garlan stammered before he found his manners again.

‘Lord Hightower, grandfather, it has been too long indeed. My apologies that I have not visited you since the last tourney I participated in here.’

He’d only been sixteen, and had been knighted that tourney. His joy was dulled immediately the second his grandfather lifted the blade after he’d stood vigil for a night, weak at the knees, and his bare feet cold on the marble floor of the second level throne room of the Hightower. His grandfather rarely descended until that level, but had to knight his grandchild.

A mercy, Garlan thought, if he had to do one extra level, he would have fallen off the stairs due to exhaustion, and would have been more crippled than Willas, or dead.

 _“You’ve gotten further than that brother of you, now don’t become reckless and cocky because of your new title boy,”_ his grandfather had said right before hitting him forcefully on the shoulder with the sword as he loudly asked Garlan in the name of the Crone to be wise and level-headed on the battlefield and off.

‘Yes, we’ve all been busy the past few years, haven’t we?’ the old man asked as he walked up to the window as well.

His grandfather did not look like a madman. His shoulders were still straight, and his posture clad in flowing robes of Hightower colouring strong despite nearing his eighties. His hair was as radiantly silver as ever, and his eyes the same pale blue as his mother’s. Willas was the only one to inherit their blue eyes, but the dominant Tyrell genes had fought for them, and brown flecked them. Garlan had envied that eye colour when he was young, but as a man he was satisfied with his own good looks.

‘Found a flaw yet? Now that you’re a great army commander – and the ghost of a past king as well I’ve heard – you must see some flaws in my preparations.’

Garlan never blushed, but he did feel his cheeks heat.

‘No, grandfather. I never doubted you. You are a wise man and have much experience. And you have the whole citadel at your disposal.’

‘So I do. So I do.’

Leyton Hightower promptly walked towards the exit and cried out for his war council to be sent up in couple of minutes.

‘You and I need to discuss some things first’, decided the old man as he motioned for Garlan to sit at the long council table upon which laid a map of the Reach. Lord Leyton sat down at the end of the table, near a tall black candle that did not look like wax, but like dark glass.

‘Is that…’

‘An obsidian candle. Yes. So you have read books’, his grandfather smiled kindly.

‘I don’t read books about magic’, answered Garlan. ‘But I know the ceremonies acolytes go through. We knights stand vigil in front of the Warrior, facing our future. Acolytes watch glass candles to face that there’s no such thing as magic.’

‘And why would the glass candles remind them there is no magic?’

‘Because no matter what they do, no matter what maesters have tried for over a century… they… don’t… burn.’

A long silence stretched during which Garlan frowned and Lord Leyton smugly looked at his burning candle.

‘So what do you conclude?’ he asked, keeping his eyes on the candle.

‘Either this is no real obsidian candle or…’

‘Or magic has returned. You know it’s true. It must be, otherwise all the bits of news you undoubtedly heard are false.’

‘Like what?’

‘The dragons across the sea, that Dondarrion knight who reportedly died seven times, an undead Lady Tully… and now; the Others.’

‘Excuse me?’

Maybe he had gone mad.

‘A cousin of yours, Leo Tyrell an acolyte, told his brother Luthor, the commander of the city watch who regularly speaks to me, about a curious visitor maester Marwyn had. A man from Night’s Watch. He spoke about dragons and the queen across the sea. Now Marwyn, smart man though a bit of a conspiracy theorist, didn't want this man to tell his story to other maesters. Of course, being a Tyrell, ambitious Leo listened in on the private conversation and decided to tell his brother, hoping he would get something out of it. Luthor told me and I had the man brought in. Didn’t take long to get it all out, poor boy was desperate to have a real lord with wealth and power take him seriously. That’s how I knew the dragons I saw in the candle were real just like the other things I saw. Like the Others.’

‘You had a man brought in so he could tell you about dreams and creatures of song?’

Garlan shook his head. Oldtown was about to be invaded and this man wanted to talk to him about magic, dragons and _ice monsters_?

‘Stop trying to make sense of these facts, you know too little of the world to do so. I’ve spent a decade researching and planning. We don’t have much time and you’ve wasted half of it by asking stupid questions. There are three dragons. They listen to Daenerys Targaryen, this is confirmed by many sailors who come into my harbour. Aegon Targaryen is about to take Dragonstone, also confirmed by ravens and sailors. Winter has come. And the Others have returned. These are all facts. Stories confirmed them, and I have seen all of these things with my own eyes through this thing.’

His grandfather tapped the glass candle.

‘I can see but I can’t hear. They’re only images. But they are enough. Another fact, one you are probably more occupied with, is that Euron Greyjoy is coming.’

‘I know.’

‘Yes, you know. But do you know why you only saw so few ships of the Redwyne fleet nearing?’

Garlan’s expression told his grandfather enough to continue.

‘You’re no sorcerer and you don’t know how to read the flames. But I have been watching this Euron Crow’s Eye. The ironborn attacked the Arbor, took some cities and hid in its waters. There the returning ships that were meant to reclaim the Arbor were attacked. But a small part sailed to meet the fleet on the open sea. He sacrificed septons. Slid their throats and let them bleed dry, tied to the figureheads on his ships. There was a storm. Most of the Redwyne fleet perished in the storm. There were no survivors. Or none that we have heard of, at least.’

‘Then how many are left? We need those ships. We need those men.’

‘We could never fight the ironborn on open waters’, Lord Leyton shrugged.

‘Lord Redwyne and some of his best commanders had been sailing towards oldtown at high speed, desperate to get here before the ironborn did. They escaped the massacre. Twenty ships, that’s all thar remains. And the parts of the Redwyne fleet that weren’t with the army fleet are stuck at the Arbor. The merchant carracks are used in an attempt to beat the ironborn there.’

‘Without the fleet how will we ever be able to get to them fast enough when they attack elsewhere? Ships are faster than horses. They can be here today and a five day ride removed tomorrow. They can attack anywhere and we can’t send our men to the rescue in time.’

Garlan was panicking right now. The city had looked to be prepared, but without the fleet… without the fleet. He’d counted on the men. He’d counted on their weapons. He’d counted on them being a first barrier at sea.

They _couldn’t_ lose Oldtown.

‘Only if they survive the battle. If we beat them at Oldtown, it doesn’t matter if we are without naval fleet’, Lord Leyton said.

Garlan was about to repeat his words in a question, but the old man was already getting annoyed.

‘How do you believe we can defeat them?’

‘With great difficulty. But it can be done. With our military. And with our secret weapon.’

‘And that is?’ Garlan asked. His grandfather seemed a lot more pleased with his constructive questions.

‘Euron plans a big sacrifice. His wife, his unborn child, septons, priests. He is going to kill them all. He’s been dabbling in magic and sacrifice for a long time. How do you think the Redwyne fleet was so incredibly slow, always plagued by bad winds, while he flew from one corner of the continent to the other, across the sea and back again, faster than possible? He knows magic, and believes his sacrifice shall doom the remnants of the Redwyne fleet and our men while he raids my town and searches whatever treasure he hopes to find here.’

Garlan paled, but refrained from asking questions and thought for a couple of seconds.

‘How do we fight magic? And what treasure does he search?’

‘We fight magic with magic. And his men with our men. He doesn’t know how many we are, and we are many. And he doesn’t know me. Malora and I are a surprise to him.’

‘Will you… sacrifice septons and priests?’

‘No. The Hightowers have been around for a long time boy, and we have knowledge the citadel can only dream of. Nobody knows what kind of stone the foundations of the Hightower are built on. No one knows how we relate to the Targaryens and ancient Valyria and the children. No one. We always kept our history close to our chests. Sometimes it went forgotten for a generation, but then someone dug around the cellars filled with relics and old tomes, and rediscovered our secret legacy. We only used it to further our position occasionally, one needs to be very careful with magic. But now, with such an opponent who seemingly knows we have save something special, it is time we unveil our true selves to save our city.’

Garlan would not be getting a practical explanation on the magic, it seemed.

‘In a couple of minutes you’ll start constructing some clever military plan to defend the city, while Malora and I take care of the Greyjoy King. But first I want to tell you some things. Don’t ask questions. We have precisely five minutes before the others open the door.’

Garlan nodded.

‘Now I haven’t written that brother of you. The information is secret, but since the fate of the realm depends on it, your brother will need it to make good decisions. The survival of the Teach depends on it. Be a good boy and take that pen and paper, I’m too old to write and I never trusted my writers with the information.’

Garlan did as he was told.

‘Should I write in code?’

‘Do as you please, I don’t care’, his grandfather decided.

‘Now I can’t tell the two of you everything I know. It might change the future. But what I am telling you now I need both you and Willas to know alright? Write exactly what I say. Phrasing matters.’

Garlan nodded and wrote the opening greeting, explaining that he had arrived at the Hightower and that his grandfather had a message for him.

‘The Targaryen pretender is to be taken seriously. He is strong and the Lannister boy weak. Act accordingly. The dragons and their queen are real. They will help in the battle against winter but are hard and vengeful. Be careful, denounce who you think they’ll dislike. Winter is coming, as are the creatures of yore. Be prepared.’

His grandfather raised his eyebrows and Garlan nodded that he had written it down.

‘The world is changing. The Hightower and the Reach will remain strong, even as King’s Landing is burned and sacked. Even as winter sweeps across the land. The world will be much the same, yet different. The Starks will rule Winterfell, The Tully’s Riverrun, the Martells Dorne, the Baratheons the Stormlands, the Lannisters Casterly, and the Tyrells Highgarden. In this world, there will be no Euron Greyjoy, no Cersei Lannister, no Frey... All old major players will be swept from the board.’

Garlan let out a sigh of relief. Whether it was the candle telling him that, some other kind of magic trick or a dream, it was a relief that despite the past two years of war, all would be well. He did not understand how there could be Starks and Baratheons, and he distantly wondered what became of the Vale and the Iron Islands, but Lord Leyton continued and he couldn’t think anymore.

‘Garlan, I need you to not lead the vanguard into battle. Stay behind.’

‘But I always lead my man from the front.’

‘I’m asking you not to.’

‘Grandfather, I don’t wish to insult you, forgive my insolence, but you don’t understand…’

‘Your wife will birth a son in two moons. Is that enough to keep you in the back? Is the desire to see your son stronger than your sense of responsibility and pride?’

‘I’ll have a son?’

‘A son. The next Lord of Brightwater keep.’

Garlan smiled, excited by the news. There could be no way his grandfather knew about Leonette, so it had to be magic if he knew the sex of his heir.

‘So, you do not side with Alekyne Florent then. I heard he came here to hide because I was planning to lay siege on Brightwater’, Garlan unsubtly prodded.

‘No lord who abandons his keep and people during a siege is worthy of the title’, huffed his grandfather. Besides, I am way to old to change my opinions because a woman and her weakling brother beg me to take their side.’

‘Oh good, because I was starting to fear that with father always letting Lord Tarly do his heavy work and both Lord Tarly and you being married to one of Alekyne’s sisters I had to start fearing for a war withing the Reach.’

‘Even if either Tarly or I thought you proud arrogant Tyrells deserved a setback, we’re both old and wise enough to pick our battles. And boy, a war in winter over a stupid castle is not a fight we’re willing to pick.’

Garlan let out a sigh of relief, that was one worry out of the way.

‘Now this is for your brother. Write it down. Lord Willas you will face a time of crisis and desperation, during which you will feel inclined to act in ways you haven’t before. Do what your gut tells you, not what your lessons and history books and forced knightly manners tell you. You have it in you to be a hard ruler, do as you need. And trust the one beside you, she will understand and support you.’

Garlan looked up at Lord Leyton.

‘Your brother will produce his own offspring in less than two years. But it is better he does not know. He needs to feel like it is his own choice.’

His brother would marry? And get a child that soon? He’d have to leave his castle first, Garlan thought with amusement. But it pleased him, he knew Willas felt left out ever since he and Margaery had married.

‘Sign it off. I’ll give it to the master of the rookery first thing after the meeting’, his grandfather declared. Garlan signed the letter and his grandfather sealed it with his ring.

‘One last thing, Garlan. Keep your troupes together at all costs. If the worst comes to happen I give you the task to run up the Honeywine with this’, his grandfather explained and shoved an ordinary flint and firesteel his way, together with a big old key.

‘There are two towers and a draw bridge right up where the Honeywine becomes smaller. I’ll need you to blow it up. The fate of the entire realm may depend on it.’

An uneasy stone settled atop of his heart. The key was icy to the touch. Gooseflesh covered his skin as he put the three items away.

Then, the others came in.

Paxter Redwyne, grim and tired. Luthor Tyrell, proud in his silver armour of the city watch but with the Tyrell rose in gold on his breastplate. Gunthor Hightower, commander of the harbour of Oldtown.

‘Hello brother’, Gunthor smiled, greeting his good-brother. ‘How’s the lady wife?’

‘With child. And yours?’ Garlan couldn’t help but smile.

‘With child’, the man laughed. ‘Good job. Those green-apple Fossoways, as fertile as they are beautiful.’

‘My lords, business please, our city and fair citadel are under attack’, pleaded Archmaester Theobald who walked in after.

He was followed by Humfrey Hightower who had hired a fifty ship fleet at a bargain price from Tregar Ormollen, curtesy of Lynesse Hightower who had pleaded Humfrey’s case.

Then in came Ser Baelor Brightsmile with a dashing toothy smile. Silver had flecked his dark brown hair, but he was indeed still the most handsome man of all Hightower children. After him a woman stalked in, with wild locks of dark hair laced with silver and deep blue bags underneath her eyes; Lady Malora. Her eyes were restless and her mouth discontent.

After Leyton’s first two children had entered, in came his third: Garth Hightower, in charge of training the newest troupes.

After the whole family had entered, in came a stern looking man with a bull skull on his chest, who sat down and immediately poured himself some wine. Garlan assumed he was the uncle or a cousin of Lady Alysanne Bulwer, a lady-in-waiting of his sister.

He was followed by Tomen Costayne and Lord Emmas Cuy. Garlan slid down in his chair, avoiding the face of the man dressed in blue and yellow.

_Why did my brother have to kill his brother? Please let us ignore the dragon in the room._

Last to come in was a man with butterflies on his doublet, Gyles Oldflowers, Ser Hugh and Lord Hunt.

‘All right, let’s all inform each other of the most recent updates we have and get down to business. Everyone has two sentences tops’, Lord Leyton decided before commanding a servant to pour him wine.

Paxter Redwyne started.

‘We have five and ten warships and five galleys right now. But they are my strongest ships, so that’s the upside.’

‘All our defences are up. There’s no dock where they could land and all our beaches and shallow waters are lined with defensive spikes so the ironborn can only jump from their longboats and dinghies when then jump out of them in at least eight foot deep water’, Gunthor said as he plucked an imaginary piece of filth of his grey enamelled scales.

‘In the past two months we have built six galleys. We already had a fleet of fifty large galleys, forty carracks… and six ships none of you have ever seen before, they’ve been in the testing phase until now, we call them galleons. The rest of our ships won’t do for the purpose of warfare’, explained Baelor.

‘And these… galleons… what kind of ship are they?’ asked Lord Hunt.

‘They're warships and merchant ships alike, with a lower forecastle and a smaller width. They're more stable, faster and more manoeuvrable than carracks. All in all, ideal for a battle in a harbour and on sea.’

‘But they haven’t been used yet’, Garlan said critically.

‘They have, a little. We were going to unveil them in a spectacular manner one day’, sighed Ser Baelor.

‘Moving on’, announced Lord Leyton.

‘With the fifty ships I have acquired, that makes a total naval power of over a hundred fifty carracks and over three hundred fifty galleys. We’ll be quite safe’, explained Humfrey Hightower.

‘The new recruits aren’t great but are capable of holding a structure, and have been put on the walls of the citadel. They can shoot arrows and throw boiling oil like no others’, Garth Hightower sighed deeply, rolling his eyes as he remembered the cumbersome training of the new warriors. ‘But they’ll be lead by Ser Moryn Tyrell’s men of the city watch. So overall, the citadel is as safe as can be.’

‘We have gotten as many people out of the city as we could, on carts, horseback and by foot. Sent them to neighbouring septries and Motherhouses’, explained the Bulwer man.

‘We have sent with them our maesters that are too old together with some novices to care for them. Those wanting to move, that is, most are confident that Oldtown and the citadel are in safe hands’, smiled the archmaester. ‘Some of the men of the city watch are escorting them as well, it was most kind of you to give our maesters an escort, Lord Hightower.’

‘We bring two hundred men. The entire personal army of house Costayne, all our other men are already with the rest of the general Reach army’, declared Costayne proudly. He lifted his head, waiting for the recognition of his sacrifice to come in. But it didn’t. All present used their entire force and even their smallfolk. Oldtown was the beating heart of commerce and cargo that connected Oldtown with the free cities and the other continents. To protect Oldtown was to directly protect your own lands, it was expected, it was needed.

‘We bring five hundred’, answered lord Cuy, coolly meeting Garlan’s gaze despite his attempt to avoid it. House Cuy had withdrawn their troupes from the Reach army after Loras had slain his brother. Garlan and Willas had decided not to press it, since the Cuys could have easily called for retribution or a murder trial.

‘That’s Blackfield, the Bastard of the Uplands’, whispered his uncle and good-brother in his ear as the dark and imposing man of House Mullendor straightened his knuckles, making them pop.

‘We gave Oldtown our lumber for free, so new ships could be built and the city could be defended. I bring myself and some eighty knights from the neighbourhood. Ser Mark lost most of his troupes during the Battle of the Blackwater. We never were many, most of us are fieldworkers, carpenters and mill workers’, shrugged the man.

‘It doesn’t matter how many men each of us brought’, snapped Ser Oldflowers. ‘Anyone has anything useful to announce that we can take into account while creating a strategy? No. Good. Now, anyone has a plan?’

‘We thought of something, actually’ said Ser Baelor with a smile and nodded at his younger brother.

Garth Greysteel smirked as he rose from his seat, pulling open a drawer filled with stone figures.

‘We’ve analysed the past few ironborn attacks and asked the maesters about what the histories said about ironborn battle strategies and have come up with a probably attack style. We have based our defence on it. In this plan, we also calculated our strengths and our weak spots.’

Garth planted down a bunch of black ships coming into the whispering sound towards Oldtown from the Arbor and the neighbouring islands.

‘The ironborn have always attacked by surprise until now’, he explained, turning his head towards Paxter Redwyne. His redhaired uncle nodded, lips wringing wryly. He hadn’t been consulted on the plan, Garlan reasoned, the Redwyne fleet had only just arrived.

‘They don’t have the element of surprise now. Indeed, maybe we have the element of surprise. They don’t know Garlan and his twenty thousand have arrived. And they’ve never seen Oldtown up close. They don’t know her strengths. And strong she is. We thought to use our geostrategic position and our assets to the fullest.’

‘Lord Redwyne, we would use your twenty ships together with our ships to create a block of ships in front of the harbour, would that be alright?’ asked Garth.

‘We’re here. They made it personal. We fight’, answered the man grimly.

‘Good. So that’s our first line of defence, they have to get past them first. Then, we have an iron chain going from one end of the city walls to the other, cutting off the naval entrance to Oldtown. It rises a foot above water, and two foot beneath’, we’ll put it up ones the boats are in place.’

‘Didn’t you have a larger chain?’ asked Lord Cuy.

‘We had, but ah… it rusted away since we last used it. This was all we could make in time’, answered Ser Gunthor awkwardly, rubbing his neck.

‘Right, moving on. Normally the men of city watch man the walls. But as said before, they will help to protect the citadel should the worst happen. They have trained the new men, so they know them and are more equipped to lead them. They also know the citadel better. None of you know Oldtown well, not from a military point of view, but it’s easier to guide you around the city wall and its battle structures and rooms than it is to guide you around the citadel. Besides, none of the men of our city watch have ever fought a battle, you have. You won’t be scared as easily. That’s why we leave the city walls to your defence. House Mullendor, House Costayne, House Cuy, Lord Garlan. We want to be secure. We need at least three hundred men in the front, and preferably just as many in the back if by some kind of miracle we are attacked in the back or on the sides. And some back-up aides as well. Can you provide them?’

Garlan bit his cheek, avoiding Lord Cuy’s gaze. He would avoid any encounter possible. They divided the men equally.

‘The beaches on the outside and the inside are protected with spikes. The streets leading to the beaches and docks are barricaded. This will slow the ironborn down incredibly _if_ they get in. Nevertheless, we need archers on the roofs of all buildings overlooking the waters. And we need men to handle the scorpions and trebuchets. Eight thousand men. We will put in our private army of two thousand’, announced Ser Baelor before looking at the previous row of men again. ‘Can you put in the others?’

House Costayne and House Mullendor had no more men to give. So House Cuy put up their final three hundred and Garlan put up the rest.

‘My men shall be lead by Ser Beesburry’, Garlan smiled gallantly. Glad that he would be able to avoid Lord Cuy for the upcoming battle.

Beesburry appeared to be pleased with this arrangement and nodded. Garlan was glad the young man liked it. It would be a fine position to command troupes for the first time, and safe too. A good first test.

‘And last, we plan to have an army on opposing sides of the river benches. From the reports we’ve heard they most often try to create a wedge formation. If they manage to form a formation while landing, we need an army on both sides to be prepared to ward them off and prevent them from getting close to the walls. We will be able to protect the walls, of course, but it’s better they can’t even try. So, Lord Garlan. We need you to be prepared for their battle strategy. Assuming you’ll lead the army on the outside of the city you need to…’

‘I need to make sure my men stand ready to do an inverted wedge and circle them. If I do, as my men finish up the remaining ironborn in the first circle, my men on the outside of the circle can already engage with the newly landed ironborn. And then the parts of the circle that were in the back can regroup. That way, we can keep forming inverted wedges as long as there are ironborn to land’, reasoned Garlan.

Ser Gunthor blinked in surprise.

‘That wasn’t the plan but yes. Yes indeed, that would work perfectly. I hadn’t thought of that.’

Garlan wouldn’t have either. But the past few years counted for a decade of experience.

‘Well, perfect. I don’t think we’ve forgotten to protect anything. And we’ve foreseen every possible outcome.’

‘Any idea when they might attack?’ asked Ser Hugh.

‘Knowing them, knowing they love surprises, they’ll only approach when we can’t see them. And attack when they think we’re least ready. I guess…’ Ser Garth trailed off as his older brother coughed loudly.

‘Baelor reasoned they would start sailing at nightfall, and attack in the dark of night.’

‘This night?’ asked Lord Costayne.

‘We met less than twenty of them in battle on the eleventh. They were bait and my ships… my ships took it. And our entire fleet was felled by a very odd storm. The other ironborn must have been at the Arbor still, since we didn’t see them on our way here. And no stories have come up of ironborn raiding nearby towns. They were behind. But it is not unlikely they were but a day behind. They might be here by nightfall today.’

Garlan’s eyes flew to the windows. The sky was already turning a bruised purple.

‘Hours. You say we have hours. And we were discussing all of this calmly. Camps need to be set up. We need to be shown the walls. The armoury. We need to take up position!’ cried Ser Cuy.

‘Well I did ask all of you to keep it short for a reason’, Lord Hightower pointed out.

‘My lords, good sers. Thank you for coming to Oldtown’s aid and doing your duty. I pray we may all see each other again tomorrow and have long conversations over good food and excellent wine. Now off you go, and may all the gods we need be with us’, Lord Hightower declared as he rose.

There was a sharp look in his eye. Of a man ready to face destiny.

Old as he was, in that moment Garlan could only see the mirror image of Durran Godsgrief in him, protecting his castle and spiting the gods who tried their hardest to take his home from him.

Garlan had not considered fighting that night. And he had particularly not considered how long it would take his army to trickle in. Only twelve thousand of his twenty-five thousand had arrived by the time he went down to his camp and explained they had to defend the two riversides and the walls.

He sent out one of his fastest messengers and in the meantime distributed his men. Six thousand on the flattest piece of shore under his command, four thousand on the higher uneven shoreline on the eastern bank, and three hundred up on the walls and nine hundred in Oldtown itself. The army inside of Oldtown was only the fourth line of defence. After the fleet. After Garlan’s army. After the walls. It was not as urgent.

It was only an hour later that his scout returned on a hue merchant river ship, ten following in tow.

‘My lord, Lord Hightower had some merchant ships stored, and puts them at your disposal to retrieve your men. They are fully manned with sailors who are untrained for battle but eager to help!’

The seven had blessed him. He gladly sent of his scout and a minor lord under his command to fetch his remaining marching men. They would probably be exhausted, perhaps have already set up camp for the evening. Garlan could only hope they would break down their camp quickly, and have enough time to rest whilst on the boats, so they could immediately jump into the battle.

He left instructions behind on where to send the incoming troupes.

Ser Leo Tyrell had to join Garlan’s side with his two thousand men, while Ser Olymer had to join Lord Hunt’s side. All calculations were made, and apologies were sent up to the wall and the inner city that Garlan couldn’t give them all the required men yet.

_Cuy is going to hold this against me, now I am the second Tyrell who is supposed to fight alongside House Cuy but disappoints._

Naught could be done about it. Garlan only hoped his men would instinctively know how to protect a wall and city. They hadn’t done it before. But he hoped they were up to it. It didn’t require a lot of knowledge to shoot arrows, push away ladders and throw boiling oil on a wall. As long as someone took the time to show them where the supplies were located. But the inner city… those warriors needed a battle strategy. Garlan could only hope it never came to a fight on the inside.

They hastily ate a hearty meal of beans, potatoes and meat, and those who had small pots filled them up with leftovers and their flasks with ale to take with them to the estuary. A man fought better with energy and a full stomach.

Garlan marched around the city in his bright green arming , preferring to be unburdened by his armour for as long as he could.

And then their wait began.

Dusk turned to night.

It was a dark moonless night, but the light in the Hightower ensured Garlan could just about see the river in front of him.

A messenger arrived with a thousand of his men and told him another four thousand of his army had appeared and had gone straight to the inner city and the opposite bank. Garlan prayed the men weren’t too tired and hungry. He asked whether some of his camp aides could come by with food for the new arrivals. He’d rather the food came to them than that they were off having dinner at the back of the city while the attack started.

The messenger agreed and took off.

A shiver came over Garlan. Looking away from the messenger he noticed a fog bank was developing, thicker than any autumnal fog bank he’d ever seen before.

A primal fear seized hold of his heart as he looked up. The sky also clouded and a wind rose. Violently tugging at the men, and even blowing loose some pins with which the horses were fastened.

It all happened in less than ten minutes.

A mysterious storm.

Just like the one the Redwyne fleet had encountered in the straights.

‘Marq,’ he called his squire, ‘my armour. And instruct the messenger to signal Lord Hunt and his men to get ready.’

‘Yes, my lord.’

His squire sprinted away, and soon Garlan could see a messenger waving two torches at the riverbank.

On the other side, through the thick mist, he could distinguish other flames moving. But it wasn’t clear what they were saying.

‘Fuck.’

There was no other word, no curse strong enough to convey the panic that took hold of him then.

If he could not see the torches on the opposite side clearly, then neither could Lord Hunt’s men see his. They couldn’t communicate.

In that moment he felt hopelessly alone. Outside of the city walls, vision unclear, and unable to communicate.

All his hope rested with the fleet that lay in front of him. He prayed they could see enough to alert them about the raiders.

His squire returned. The trusted weight of his silver enamelled armour felt good against his chest, back and legs. He was stronger already.

‘They can’t understand us with the torches, my lord. The mist is too thick’, his squire explained.

The trumpets would give away that Oldtown was prepared and expecting the ironborn, but to risk that the other side of the river was unprepared for an attack… Garlan rather loose the element of surprise than the battle.

_I feel it in my gut. Something is in the air. Something isn’t right._

‘Trumpets. Use the trumpets’, Garlan decided as his squire attached the besagews and pauldrons shaped like roses.

‘Yes, right away my lord.’

A silver gorget with the yellow Tyrell rose was placed around Garlan’s neck.

‘Off. Off you go. Now!’ Garlan cried as he yanked his helmet from his squire’s hands.

The battlefield was no place for courtesy and polite questions. There was no time for words, no time for questions and pleasantries. Garlan’s lieutenants had also finished dressing. All mounted their armoured horses and called together their troupes.

Garlan threw a look at the walls and the misty river. He couldn’t even see the boats anymore. The fog had grown thick as a wall.

‘My men. For months we had to watch with sorrowful eyes as the ironborn raided our coasts, stole our food, raped our women and killed our lords and farmers. Today is the day of reckoning. We shall make these thieves pay with their own blood!’ Garlan cried.

The men did not cry and slam their armour as usual. They knew they had to keep their silence. The land army was the big surprise.

‘A true soldier does not fight because he hates what is in front of him, but because he loves what is behind him. And just look at that! Men, is that city not worth defending? The centre of our commerce, the beating heart of our economy. One of the reasons of our prosperity while the rest of Westeros is crumbling. The centre of our one true Faith! And our houses. All of our houses, whether we live in mud and straw houses or stone ones, they are all behind us. As are our loved ones. This is what we fight for. Our lives, our homes, our food, our faith, our way of life! Yesterday I prayed to the seven for you. I asked the Warrior to give you strength. I pray for you, I believe in you. Ours is the holy cause. Let us show them that their god who has already died and drowned, and their dirty ruthlessness shall always lose from our kind benevolent seven-faced-god and the message of virtue and chivalry he carries!’

‘I know you are afraid. A man who is afraid of dying is a man who fights to live. And we want to live, and we want our people to live. That is why we fight! We are the swords of the Seven. Tonight we fight out of duty for our families, our gods, our homes. We owe it to them to fight with all our might. The coward is the one who lets his fear overcome his sense of duty. Duty is the essence of manhood. And are we not men? Are we not warriors? Are we not strong?!’

The trumpet sounded.

Shrill and weak in the cold winter night.

A short silent second metal wheeze resounded across the river. The eastern bank had heard.

Garlan looked over his shoulder towards the river. He thought he heard a faint crack. Probably a mast turning with the wind, he reasoned.

‘Take no prisoners. An ironborn won’t stop fighting until he’s dead, and they don’t pay ransoms. They will charge at us shouting and wild, like savages. Don’t cower. The only way we can succeed is if you are strong and hold your lines. Remember your duty! Men. To your positions!’

A second crack sounded.

Garlan charged towards the back. He hated standing there. He never got a good overview, and disliked letting his men do the work.

The key burned around his neck.

 _Grandfather said he had seen many things. Why did he give me the key? Has he not seen our victory?_ Dread filled Garlan. _What if I have to stay in the back because we will lose?_

His shoulders tensed as he stared at the fog floating above the water.

What was creaking so?

The wind rose. His horse neighing in protest as a chill creeped underneath Garlan’s clothes.

And then it started.

He didn’t know what happened first: the cracks or the light.

The Hightower lit up so brightly that the Beacon of the South got a whole new meaning. All the surrounding lands were lit and Garlan could see until the sea. The river was still coated in the impenetrable fog which was now creeping towards the riverbanks as well, but Garlan could make out the masts and sails and faintly something moving within. The shouting started.

The ironborn were here.

Garlan looked at the Hightower, the light was so blinding he couldn’t even see the top of it anymore.

Magic. It had to be. No amount of lenses and flames could create such light in the dead of night.

But he had no time to wonder.

The shouting had begun. And after a terrible groan, Garlan turned back just in time to see seven sails just… Disappear.

There were shouts and splashes, but he could see nothing.

There was more shouting and splashing, but no men came up on the land.

Horns and trumpets sounded in panic.

‘Krakens! Krakens!’

‘Gods help us!’

‘Save us!’

The chill seeped through Garlan’s bones.

His grandfather had insinuated Euron Greyjoy controlled the weather and had created a storm. Did he posses magic? Could he really summon krakens? Or were the men just shouting ‘kraken’ because that was the Greyjoy coat of arms?

‘Men, at the ready! Hold!’ cried Garlan from the back.

A scout was sent to the edge of the water.

Garlan’s men had their backs at him, but he did not need to see their faces. The hesitant steps of the scout probably represented the fear all men felt.

Perhaps not knowing was a blessing in disguise.

A long black boneless arm shot out of the fog towards the scout.

The scout barely had the time to cry before the arm wrapped around him and snatched him into the fog.

Silencing him.

‘Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.’

Horses rose and men staggered back.

He couldn’t blame them.

‘Hold! We are far away from the water. The beast can’t reach us!’ he cried after throwing open his visor.

Or at least, he hoped so.

‘Hold I said!’

One by one the masts and sails disappeared amidst the creaking and groaning of what Garlan now knew to be the splintering of wood that was pulled towards the deep bottom.

It was a slaughter. And all boats were simply awaiting their deaths.

In a matter of four days, the whole of the Redwyne fleet, the strongest of all of Westeros, had been destroyed by the Greyjoys.

Gone were the new galleons.

Gone the carracks.

Gone the warships.

A deadly silence followed.

Their first line of defence had been destroyed in less than half an hour. And it had taken the ironborn zero manpower.

Garlan swallowed the lump in his throat.

They were next.

Suddenly all his victories and experiences on which he’d prided himself turned to ash in his mouth.

He hadn’t even fought a dozen battles.

And now he had to take up arms against the Stranger may know what magic lay behind that wall of white that was creeping ever closer.

_I want to be home. I want Highgarden._

On the battlefield, there are often no words needed.

All felt the approach of something dark and dreadful in the atmosphere. Shoulders straightened, and hands clutched the reigns of their horses harder. Every man felt his own vulnerability and mortality as they prepared for their invisible supernatural foe. Yet at the same time they were conscious of the walls behind them, and their brethren beside them. Together they protected the reach. They could yet win.

Then, vaguely, the first row of men could distinguish thin longboats slicing through the water, their paddling drowned out by the howling wind. Their sails were weathered, with a red eye beneath a black iron crown supported by two crows.

But they could not land.

For a brief second, Garlan’s chest filled with relief, before dark tentacles lashed out, striking down against the wood.

Up the wood flew, splinters hurling through the sky.

On the front row, men crumpled. Impaled on the wood that was meant to defend them.

Garlan froze.

He was supposed to be on that front line. Lord Leyton had saved his life.

‘Hold! Hold!’

‘Hold!’

He could hear his lieutenants repeating as they rode up and down their formations.

The ironborn landed where they could, jumping out of the water and threading through the thick mud and across the wood, not even bothered they had to drag themselves through five foot high murky water.

The first three rows crouched down, lifting their lances.

The awkward waddling turned into enraged speed. The ironborn building up momentum and charging as soon as only fifty of them had landed.

These were madmen, but the troupes were familiar with men.

Men, they could fight.

Men, they could kill.

Reality wrapped around Garlan again, as he was thrown out of his own head and into action.

The rumbling footsteps drowned out any thoughts.

Then, the impact.

The jarring splintering of wood as lances were hit, the gruff groans as men were gutted, the dull sound of mud splattering and the sharp sound of swords being swivelled and axes hitting metal.

Figures grappled and hacked, holding the lines neatly.

The horses grew restless, their hooves turning the dirt to mud where they stood.

Men crumpled to the ground, their blood and bodies seeping into the mud;

More ships cut through the water, planting themselves into the mud of the shore.

But they were few.

Where were the rest of them?

_Is Euron sending us his men boat by boat, planning on tiring us by having us go through his men per the hundred? There aren’t even enough of them to cut a wedge in our lines. Perhaps Euron will cut through each defence at a time, so the next line of defence needs to look on as thousands after thousands of men are slaughtered, knowing they are going to be up next. Knowing that when they fall, the ironborn will be one step closer to their goal. Psychological warfare as well as actual warfare._

Garlan banished his dark thoughts. No, they were the many! Euron was outnumbered one to ten. And his raider men had neither the experience nor the material to take on the walls of Oldtown.

The sixth boat was larger, carrying more men.

Now it was happening. Now it would start.

They waited until all men had come on land, and then started their charge.

Garlan held his breath.

With roars of fury, the ironborn threw themselves on the line of Tyrell men. Garlan noticed one man, hacking his way through with a great war axe, cleaving left and right, a second wild eyed ironborn right behind him.

As the first hacked and hacked, chopping down at least six men before he finally crumbled himself, two others jumped to fill the hole.

They were breaking through, as predicted. They were trying to create a wedge.

Garlan lifted his balled hand.

They couldn’t go yet. Going to soon would ruin it. They had to time and coordinate their response perfectly.

The battle fever was upon the ironborn, incensed by the supernatural support from the river. They felt indestructible, even as their fellows were slain. They were the army whose commander had become a god.

And their god controlled beasts of legends and worked miracles, doing what no man had done before. They would be the army of legend.

Ser Oldflowers’ centre retreated slowly under the pressure of the ferocious enemy. Garlan outstretched his hand.

It was time.

His wings moved forward slowly, trying not to call attention to their move.

Garlan bit his cheek as he watched them proceed. They were both moving forward at an equal pace, to his relief.

He wished he could do something useful. There was nothing worse than being idle on the battlefield.

After fanning out, the riders rushed through the mud and surrounded the foot soldiers, crushing the ironborn.

The crying died out slowly, a last few guttural cries choked through bloody lungs were the last to go.

‘Quick, regroup!’

‘Regroup!’ Riders struggled to get through the mud and over the now corpse filled field.

A new boat was arriving.

The new arrivals noticed how there was not one of them ashore, and started running, on their own, without any formation, at the riders and soldiers. Hacking as they saw fit.

The lines broke as some continued retreating and others fought for their lives.

But in the end, they managed to get back in line, since there were too few ironmen to overpower them. And by the arrival of the second boat, they were ready again.

_We will be killing ironborn all the way through tomorrow and the day after if they continue trickling in at that pace._

As his men continued killing, Garlan grew more and more impatient and worried.

It could not be this easy. The fight had started with krakens and now it was a breeze. There had to be something more to this.

Once again Garlan stared at the fog searching for answers.

But the answer did not come from the fog. It came from the citadel.

A sharp crack of metal and breaking stone shot through the sky, loud as thunder. Followed by the sound of heavy bricks falling into the water with thick heavy plops and soft splashes.

Garlan did not need to see.

The chain was down.

The gates were open.

The ironmen who had landed were a distraction. Concealed by mist the forgotten krakens had gathered around the net, twisting their slimy limbs around the net and tugging until it broke off, and parts of the defensive wall with it.

Hundreds upon hundreds of boats filled with ironborn were yet to land.

They were all just biding their time to sail into the city, Garlan realized.

_And these men who do land on the outside are just keeping us busy so we can’t return to the city and help out there._

Suddenly it struck him as stupid to put over ten thousand of his men outside of the walls.

The only use we had was to keep the ironborn in the water while they were being attacked by the fleet. But the fleet is gone. And the ironborn were never going to attack on land.

The ironborn had no experience taking on a walled city. They did not lay siege to cities. That was not what they did. They took what they wanted by water, sailing right up to their targets. Why had the Hightowers planned their defence plan as if they were suddenly going to do so?

Why had all of them collectively forgotten that the ironborn never attacked on land? They hadn’t come to fight an army, they had come to raid. And now they would sail right up to the shops and homes they wanted to plunder as they had always intended.

Of course, Garlan could not be too angry. Everyone feared Euron Greyjoy’s plans. They had considered every possible method of attack, not counting magic krakens, in case Euron decided something new. That’s why they had chosen to defend by land, by sea, by wall and in the city.

The city.

Garlan doubted all of his troupes had magically arrived already.

They _had_ to get into Oldtown.

They had to protect it.

They were wasting their time here.

Garlan eyed the battlefield in front of him.

How did one end a battle? He couldn’t just shout stop. There were still enemies on the coast.

And how was he going to get into Oldtown? The gates would be locked everywhere.

He eyed the boats of the dead pirates.

The waters were filled with krakens, the walls with bowmen, and the beaches on the inside with trebuchets.

No, he couldn’t go by water, then his own men would shoot at their brothers in arms, and the Reach would lose ammunition on stupid kills.

He sighed.

They would have to go back to the Honeywine and beg for entrance. Whatever ironborns landed on the shores, the men on the walls would be able to deal with them.

_But this is our post, our duty._

_And what if the ironmen want you to retreat to the inner city, then they can walk around the city and get in from the back just like you._

Garlan supressed a growl.

He couldn’t just retreat. He had to leave some men here.

But what if those died because they were too few?

That doesn’t matter. It is hard but true. They know they fight to defend the city, not themselves. The city mustn’t fall. What good is a living army when their lands are stolen from under them.

A second stone fell onto his stomach.

The Hightower stood on the closest island behind the walls.

Lord Leyton.

The Hightower women.

‘Ser Oldflowers!’ cried Garlan, a sadness making his limbs as heavy as if he had fought in the vanguard the past three hours.

‘Ser Oldflowers!’

His lieutenant came up, reading Garlan’s grave face despite their success on the field.

‘Those sounds were the iron chains breaking. The city is open for attack. We may not see it, but it’s possible the ironborn are sailing into Oldtown as we speak. I was supposed to put thousands more into the city but couldn’t.’

‘Who do you wish to leave behind.’

‘The side flanks. Leaving you in charge. They are the least exhausted.’

Ser Oldflowers had seen Robert’s rebellion as a soldier and later a captain for the Targaryens and knew the odds, knew the risks, and gave a solemn nod.

‘The Warrior be with you.’

‘And you, Ser Oldflowers. May we see another dawn.’

‘Only a matter of time now before we do. And then those iron buggers can’t hide anymore’, Oldflowers growled.

Garlan nodded, looking up at the sky. The clouds were still dark and angry, but indeed tinting with blue now. It would not be another two hours.

Garlan and Ser Oldflowers charged forward on their steeds, crying out as they shared the new plans with the soldiers during the chaotic continued struggle against some sixty ironmen on shore.

Slowly, those who had to follow extracted themselves from the battle. Bloodied, tired, and partially relieved for the reprieve. But all with horses were still on them. And all alive were still clutching their swords.

Garlan wanted to race at breakneck speed, but the men on foot were tired after fighting in the mud.

‘Help the soldiers on your horses. They can carry two.’

And so the foot soldiers who were most tired were lifted onto the horses by the knights.

Garlan envisioned women raped in small streets. Ironborn throwing stones through the precious hundred year old stained glass windows of the septs, and plundering houses, resentment and determination building in him as his horse galloped towards the Honeysuckle.

Those too injured to fight were thrown off at their camp. The horses were fed and watered, and the men took a quick break to drink or relieve themselves as they awaited the foot soldiers. Once they had arrived, Garlan, surrounded by Tyrell banners, approached the side entrance next to the main gate at the back.

His own men on top of the walls had recognized the horses and banners, even in the dark of night, and recognized Garlan as he shouted at them, and so no pouring oil was thrown over Garlan as he stepped towards the gate.

Garlan identified himself, named his whole family from the past three generations, and all his exact family relations to the Hightowers, and had to describe the reception level of the Hightower. But then he was accepted to be true and his men were let through. They immediately stormed towards the river.

It was if an eternity had gone by since they left the front of the city, and in the meantime the apocalypse had arrived.

The sky was clearing up slightly, morning ever so slowly settling over Oldtown as the sky turned a dark blue.

But beneath, carnage was unfolding.

The river was choked with ships. Some were burning, some were sinking, and some were still stubbornly making their way towards the coast. Between the knocked hulls the water was thick with corpses and broken oars.

The beaches were covered with splinters and corpses.

And in the distance, Garlan could see flames dancing behind the broken windows of the Starry Sept.

_They had collected almost all of the people who could not get out of the city there._

They had been praying for salvation.

But now their house of prayer had become their tomb.

Garlan cried out to his men, urging them to continue along the boulevards and streets to hack down any Ironmen they found. There was no place for formations in the narrow golden cobblestone streets. The only possible tactic was slay or be slain.

Finally, his battle began.

Garlan’s hands came alive once he took his sword in hand to greet an ironmen, striking down hard and relishing in the ringing impact of the blow.

Now he was useful.

Here he was meant to be.

His sword sung as his eyes roved over the coast, watching and waiting as ironmen wrung themselves between the spikes and across their dead fellows, crawling towards the city.

He closed, lifting his sword, swinging it back as he spurred his horse towards the ironmen. Slashing his sword down left, then right, letting loose his reigns and clenching his thighs around his horse to ride and kill with maximum efficiency.

No one got close.

Victory did not feel impossible now.

He flew over the boulevard, slashing as he went nowhere in particular. Only from enemy to enemy.

Warrior, give me the strength to kill one more.

One more.

One more.

One –

‘Euron Greyjoy. You will never take us. Today will be your last day!’ the voice of Oldtown boomed, a voice without body carried over the entire city.

A sharp pain dragged his attention downwards again.

Garlan took hold of the reigns and pivoted. Thrusting his sword towards his attacker.

Pain bloomed in his leg.

Another blow and his attacker fell.

Garlan bit away the pain and looked around, seeing no direct threat before he looked up again. There, right above the island of the citadel, two figures took flight.

_Please let this be another piece of magic of my grandfather, not Euron._

Onwards he continued, the singing in his arms was soon replaced by a strain, but his soul was far from tired.

Instead his chest swelled with pride upon seeing the corpses laced with arrows like human pincushions, and his determination was incensed upon hearing the screams of women and the sight of fallen house shields.

Time became meaningless. There was only another attacker, and another. And another.

And then, a screech.

From a smoking tower, a great stone beast took wing, carrying large cauldrons.

Garlan instinctively threw his arms around the neck of his horse as a creature raked over his head.

It had the body of a lion carried by the wings of an eagle.

The sphinxes that once guarded the citadel now protected the city.

He now noticed the beasts had kept on dropping cauldrons on ironborn ships in the harbour of Oldtown ever since they first took flight.

But Garlan did not dwell. He didn’t need another sword in his leg.

A spear hit his shield. But Garlan rode on, knocking over a bowman with long wet brown hair. Spurring his horse, he jumped over a bloody corpse and narrowly avoided a fallen horse begging to be killed.

He struck down, cracking a skull here, and hitting a limb there.

The fever was broken by a loud bang.

Time started ticking again as an invisible force knocked him straight off his horse.

Debris flew in all direction.

Garlan turned on his back, crawling away from his horse and the rain of wood.

The water exploded in bursts of bright toxic green. The colour clashing with the pink sky.

Garlan hid behind a dead horse, watching the sky fill up with smoke, the taste of soot bitter on his tongue.

Wildfire.

They had called him mad, but the only thing they should have called the defender of Oldtown was genius.

Waves of emerald and jade rolled over the water, devouring ships whole in seconds, roasting the ironborn... Even the krakens. There were multiple, he now saw, dark limbs flapping as they swam towards the entrance of the port. But there were the iron chain had been, was now a thick wall of flames. Wildfire made even water burn. They were stuck.

The only thing wildfire didn’t destroy was sand and rock. The beaches and boulevards were a buffer. But the islands…

Garlan looked at them, some houses stood on the edges of the bridges, and some buildings were located quite low on the water. The Quill and Tankard was already burning.

Garlan remembered drinking there once, during the tourney. For six hundred years it had stood there, now it would not survive till midday.

History was written today. And history was destroyed.

A burning ship reached the shores, ironmen spilled out like rats, crawling over each other to get away.

 _I never saw an ironman with fear in his eyes until now,_ Garlan mused.

He struggled upright, taking back his shield and sword and pushing himself into a standing position. His leg throbbed.

He could hear his blood pounding in his ears. His survival instinct stronger than his injury.

A knight off his horse had only a third of the survival odds. He had to find Victory back.

But first, he had to kill some ironborn.

There were no more incoming ironmen. And he and his army were hacking down any and all remaining ironmen roving through the streets. The Warrior had taken over again. And he fought side by side with his foot soldiers, the horse forgotten.

Everything forgotten.

Morning turned into midday, and the fires were slowing down, flames lowering as they found nothing left to burn.

He didn’t know where his troupes were.

He didn’t know what was happening on the walls.

He didn’t know whether the Hightower had survived the attacked on Battle Isle.

He didn’t know how many had died on every side.

He lived only in the present; only in the battle. Hacking, pivoting, running, deflecting.

He was surrounded by five ironborn. Not a single of his fellows near him anymore.

But it didn’t bother him.

He trained against three or more soldiers, deliberately training for moments such as these.

‘Fancy seeing you here, brother dear!’

Silver armour decorated with amethysts and black vines jumped in front of him. On Garlan’s other side appeared a man with a blue shield decorated with three cups. Jon Cupps, aunt Leyla Hightower’s lord husband.

‘What are you doing here?’

‘Thought you could use some help’, he explained as he lashed out at an ironborn, who deflected his attack.

‘But the Shields!’

‘Had naught to do. You already appointed lords as replacement, I just dropped most of my army there – ‘ Loras explained as he slammed his shield against the chin of the ironborn. As he staggered backwards, Loras sheathed his sword underneath the man’s armpit, right into the weak spot of his armour.

‘Took two ships full of my best men who were aching for some fight. See if there was any to be found here’, the youth said recklessly.

‘But your wounds?’ asked Garlan as he hacked off the forearm of an ironborn.

‘Scars don’t hurt my body, only the eyes of those looking at me’, his brother answered grimly.

Garlan was desperate to see his brother. He hadn’t seen him since before he left for the Shields, almost three moons ago.

‘You’ll still be pretty, you always were’, Garlan tried to tease in good humour.

Loras ignored him. They hacked their way through their enemies.

‘Just like in the good old times, right?’ Loras asked as he backed against Garlan, lifting his sword as four ironborn charged at them.

Garlan laughed.

‘Lord Leo and Ser Rhysling come again!’

Attack, parry, lift shield.

Lash, duck, jump, slash. Slash.

Strike.

The man fell, nearly headless.

He’d drifted away from Loras during his attack.

Turning around, he noticed an ironborn creeping towards Loras’ back as he was busy fighting with another.

His greatsword lifted.

‘Loras!’

Garlan threw himself forward.

The greatsword slammed against his shield with such force that he fell backwards, foot catching on a dead body behind him.

The ironborn approached, lifting his sword with a menacing grin.

Garlan scrambled. His shield too far to reach.

A knight off his horse had only a third of the survival odds.

Garlan drew back his elbows, holding his sword in both hands.

As the man lifted his sword, Garlan thrust his sword forward. Planting it firmly in the man’s stomach. The man’s face contorted.

_I didn’t imagine it would feel like this._

The adrenaline had detached his mind from his body so much that he could only feel…

‘Warm’, said Garlan in a small puzzled voice, a heartbeat before the sound of steel armour hitting the ground.

His opponent was dead.

But his sword stood straight, buried underneath Garlan’s plackart.

‘Garlan! No!’

His brother’s face appeared above him, and he felt his brother draw him away from the open street towards a small alley.

‘We need to get you to the nursery. I-is there anywhere in the city where they might take care of you?’

Garlan shook his head.

The city was stormed. Buildings burned. The only possible place was the Hightower. But that was just as far away as the camp. 

_This is it._

‘I’m going to get you out of here.’

Garlan shook his head.

Grey ash flakes twirled down from a clear blue sky.

Like snowflakes.

‘Garlan no, please. The city is _saved_. The Greyjoys _defeated_. They’re dead. They’re dead, Garlan. You did it. You did it’, Loras’ voice broke.

_The city is safe, the Reach stands strong and undefeated. Their fleet destroyed. The Reach is safe. That was all I wanted._

The warmth spread from his stomach towards his chest and limbs.

He opened his eyes.

When had he closed them?

‘Oh Loras.’

His helmet was off.

His young sweet brother’s face was a mangle. One eye gone, the skin around it red. A scar ran from one side of his face to his eye. It looked like a rose, and the scar like a stem.

His hand fell down from where it had tried to reach Loras’ face.

He could feel his brother taking it and pressing it tightly.

‘I’m carrying you out of here!’ Loras insisted.

In those final moments, Garlan’s mind started extending beyond the battlefield and the present again.

‘Leo -te …Child’, he laboured.

He would never see her again.

Never meet his son. 

Never enter his castle.

Never see Highgarden again.

His mother.

His body shook with a thick gasp before he felt his lungs give.

A river of blood slithered between his armour. The golden rose drowning the golden cobblestones of Oldtown a dark red.

Loras cradled Garlan’s head. Pressing a tender kiss against his temple.

Then he rose, eyes hard with determination, sword clenched in his hand. Ready to kill all remaining ironborn to avenge his brother. Mad with grief and despair.

Then he did what heroes do after their work is accomplished; he died.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know you were all excited to see Garlan. I’m sorry it ended like this.  
> After a chapter like this, I would like to just drop the mic and not include notes. But there are some things I really have to address. 
> 
> 1) I won’t be addressing the Shield islands after this chapter, this is what happened outside my story.  
> Lord Serry, deposed Lord of Southshield fled to Highgarden and is now on his way back. Lord Hewett of Oakenshield was killed so Garlan left his son Ser Humdon in charge. Lord Grimm on Greyshield was reinstated. There was no heir left in House Chester, but Garlan let the castellan take the rule. Garlan left hundred men in every castle. He killed all ironborn. Garlan did not have men to spare. So the Shields were still weak and defenceless if the ironborn attacked them again. That’s why Loras was going to the shields. 
> 
> 2) This is how the battle went : Euron sacrificed his holy men and his pregnant wife when he sailed towards the Redwyne fleet in The Forsaken. It’s been speculated that Euron was also responsible for making the Redwyne fleet slow. So Euron already had weather control. With his sacrifice, he plans to summon something from the deep. The Hightowers have dabbled in alchemy and sorcery before according to A World of Ice and Fire, so the wildfire was obvious. It was even said the Hightowers tested necromancy. But since I found the idea of Deep Ones fighting zombies a bit too powerful, I went for stone sphinxes against krakens. For this I based myself on a couple of quotes.  
> A) From Aeron ‘The Forsaken’ (WOW): “He showed the world his blood eye now […] and a forest burned behind him… Then Euron lifted a great horn to his lips and blew, and dragons and krakens and sphinxes came at his command and bowed before him.” The Burning Forest is Euron’s fleet of ships. The krakens indeed bow before him. The sphinxes bow down before him, but carry wildfire and bring his downfall. George never plays a vision straight. So I thought this would be a cool interpretation.  
> B) From Daenerys IV (ACOK): “ From a smoking tower, a great stone beast took wing, breathing shadow fire” Technically wildfire isn’t natural fire, and the sphinxes are great stone beasts. The following vision of Daenerys is of a dead Greyjoy, so I connected the two visions.  
> C) From the Prologue (AFFC): “The grey sheep have closed their eyes, but the mastiff sees the truth. Old powers waken. Shadows stir. An age of wonder and terror will soon be upon us, an age for gods and heroes.” The grey sheep are the maesters who want a world without magic, but Leyton practices magic. Old powers like dragons have awakened, and krakens are also mythological beasts. During the Battle of Oldtown the septons are confronted with wonder and terror, someone who believes himself to be a god (Euron) and heroes. Now nobody will be able to deny the existence of magic. So whether Euron lives or dies, he was right in the end, there’s a new world order and he has helped create it.
> 
> 3) In the prologue of Feast Pate was killed by a Faceless Man. Euron used a faceless man to kill Balon Greyjoy. I reason Euron hired two faceless men. One is “Pate”, who opened up the Citadel so they can search for treasure and knowledge there. Sam, Alleras and Leo defended the citadel but since this is Garlan pov you don't see that. The second one needs to be in the Hightower itself to open it up for Euron. 
> 
> 4) I did borrow some quotes. So here are the proper credits:  
> A) “Battle is the most magnificent competition in which a human being can indulge. It brings out all that is best; it removes all that is base. All men are afraid in battle. The coward is the one who lets his fear overcome his sense of duty. Duty is the essence of manhood.” - George Patton.  
> B) “The true soldier fights not because he hates what is in front of him, but because he loves what is behind him.” - G.K. Chesterton.
> 
> 5) We only saw Garlan through Sansa, this is my take on Garlan's military side she didn't see. They Tyrells are all gracious, courtly and attractive. But they are also all passionate, short tempered and have an impulsive streak (Loras just killing his rainbow guard members and recklessly attacking dragonstone, Margaery losing her composure and cursing Cersei, Mace just recklessly abandoned the siege of Storm’s End to go to his daughter). All love hawking and horses and songs (which I tried to incorporate in Garlan’s sole chapter by having him think of Durran Godsgrief). The Tyrells are just the embodiment of all courtly and knightly ideals, looks and pastimes basically. But I also made it so that they each represent a part of Reach culture. Margaery is the talented noble maiden who can sing, play and dance and has a heart for the poor. Loras is the perfect knight of song. Willas represents the scholarly of the Citadel. And Garlan is devout, representing how the Reach is the heart of the Faith. He is devout, dutiful and humble.


	17. Two wilted roses

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My laptop died, long live the new king Lenovo. Seriously though, laptops and computers require so many precious resources to make and they’re created to be thrown away within the 5-7 years. I wish it was encouraged to replace parts instead of the whole thing. But no, replacing broken parts is more expensive than buying a new one. Horrible.

**_Sansa Stark POV_ **

She knew before the servant even started talking. There was a peculiar look of apprehension and fear in his eyes as he stood there in the large living space where she and thirty other women were sewing winter clothes from the raw fabrics Willas had started stocking up on years before.

Just five hours earlier the lanky young lad had discovered them in the library as he brought Willas a letter from Leonette, one from Garlan and one from Lord Leyton. They had fallen asleep on the couch last night, him lying against the armrest and she against his chest.

They had spent whole evenings together the past five days. Willas hadn’t been coping well with Margaery’s trial, and she, understanding how difficult it was to sleep when one worried for a sibling, had always kept him company until either of them was too tired and decided to retire. But sleep had consumed them by surprise the previous evening. She had just returned to working. The glass house was finished and gardeners had now taken over. But there was still plenty to be done and the work had tired her, especially since her back still ached and she’d been down for five days. And Willas, well. Willas had been a nervous mess knowing his brother would face the Greyjoy fleet the next day, he had worked until she forced him to stop and relax. She had no doubt the constant fear and stress were took their toll.

She’d scampered away, red faced. But she did not doubt that the raven boy wouldn’t have the same discretion as Willas’ fixed servants who had come to fetch her from time to time. But no amount of fretting would keep the rumours from spreading. She would just have to accept that soon the whole of Highgarden would think she was sleeping with Lord Willas.

The news was delivered, and the room exploded. The servant threw a hesitant glance in her direction, but scurried off quickly.

Despite a deeply unsettled feeling nestling in her stomach, she felt oddly calm as she took in the other reactions. 

Some instantly started praying.

Others started crying.

Others started talking, asking questions no one present could answer.

How did it happen? When? Does his wife know? What would Lord Willas and Lord Mace do? What would happen to his remains? Did he suffer?

She only had the vaguest clues to the answers.

In the letter Lady Leonette had written Willas, she’d said she was going home by boat, and would only take as many stops as were strictly necessary. She wouldn’t be able to receive ravens until she arrived. But since all fast boats had been claimed by Loras’ and Garlan’s armies, it would take her over two weeks to get home.

Two weeks. By the time she got here, her husband would be long buried.

She would be the last to know.

Sansa pitied the sweet girl. She didn’t wish it upon anyone to lose a husband that young. Poor Leonette, unused to suffering, and so excited to be pregnant, would come home to her first big loss, and what a blow it was. Her child would never know its father.

She prayed the shock wouldn’t make her miscarry.

As to the other questions. Willas had received a letter from his grandfather reporting the battle had started, signed off at the first hour of the new day. That letter had arrived ten hours after the battle started. If the news of Garlan’s death had arrived, that meant the battle had to have ended hours earlier. Otherwise they wouldn’t have been able to collect the dead. The battle could not have lasted beyond noon.

Willas wouldn’t sleep that night, she knew it already.

He’d felt so guilty that morning, knowing he had slept while his brother had fought.

She had tried to tell him that he was allowed to sleep, that he worked hard on moments his brothers sometimes didn’t, that a lack of sleep made him less productive. Useless. Utterly useless.

He would never be anything but dutiful, wanting to carry the entire weight of his house if it meant he could spare his family.

He’d panicked at the thought of being unable to protect his sister, she wondered what he would actually do now that he had lost his brother.

‘Alayne, you need to go to him’, Amaryllis whispered.

‘But I haven’t been summoned… I- I never go to him. He comes to me, or has me collected. Or asks whether I can visit him at a certain time.’

‘Well today is kind of different’, Amaryllis shot back.

‘We should pray. We ought to pray. Our noble, brave lord has died. The least we can do is pray for his soul. Our Ser Garlan is very strong, no doubt that if he has died, so have many other men of ours. Let us thank them for their sacrifice in prayer.’

‘And pray that the Warrior and the Mother see fit to send many of our husbands and sons back. That most lives claimed are those of men from other parts of the Reach’, said another woman.

Almost all women rose, most were mothers and wives.

As the pilgrimage towards the castle sept started, Sansa and Amaryllis slipped away into an empty hallway.

‘Do you think I should? But what if he doesn’t want me there?’

‘His brother just died. And he hasn’t got a single family member to grieve with. They’re all gone.’

‘Maybe he wants to talk with some of his friends. Or Maester Lomys… or maybe he’s busy and someone else is in there… that boy from the rookery already found me in the library together with him’, Sansa bemoaned.

‘With all respect, but gossip has already started. People don’t need to know you’re seeing him at night before they make up stories. They saw the two of you at the Solstice. Then he appointed you to lead several winter preparations. They already think the two of you are doing something.’

Sansa felt her cheeks heat up. People already talked about her? She hadn’t noticed at all. Her head filled up with potential stories, each one racier than the next.

‘Oh no.’

‘Listen, if he’s with someone that’s great. But what if he’s alone?’

Sansa remained silent. Chewing on her cheek.

‘You may be the single best person designated for the job. You lost your brother, all of your brothers. Your whole family. Who can better understand him or comfort him?’

‘But I’m Alayne to him, not Sansa’, she protested weakly.

‘And there’s nothing Alayne Stone could say to comfort him? To soothe him?’

There was, she was certain.

She ached to go to him, but she could not forget the constraints in which they moved.

Seeking him out during such a private time, comforting him through this specific hardship and heartache, felt like crossing an unspeakable boundary.

‘He doesn’t even know I’ve met Garlan. I can’t even talk about how his brother was.’

‘You met Garlan, right?’

Sansa nodded.

‘He was… very courteous… and kind. On the day the Lannisters forced me and Lord Tyrion to wed, he was the only one who reached out to me. Who comforted me. Spoke words of kindness. He danced with me then. And at Joffrey’s wedding, he showed kindness to Lord Tyrion’, Sansa said quietly.

She still remembered the first time she saw him.

Dressed impeccably, face noble and handsome although not beautiful like Loras.

She could still see him dancing with his sweet wife. They were the most affectionate couple Sansa had ever seen, almost always touching each other, hands, arms, back. They were always connected.

She could still recall how he fought in the training yard, three to four men against him.

_It could not have been easy to fell such a knight._

‘Did you want to be alone? When… when.. Well’, Amaryllis stuttered, face scrunched as she struggled to find words. She had no experience with the topic, and wished to handle it delicately. Yet every word spoken on it felt too hard.

‘I was alone’, Sansa answered quietly.

‘They murdered my father, and all his men. My sister disappeared and no one told me where she was. To this day I don’t know where she is. And they took Jeyne, my Jeyne. Tore her away from my arms. And by the time I lost Rickon and Bran, an then mother and Robb… There was no one left.’

The walls faded around her as she tried to outwalk the grief she had not faced since leaving King’s Landing.

But her bleeding heart leapt at the opportunity to finally talk about it, and so her mouth overflowed with grief.

‘They hurt me. Hit me. Forced me to denounce my family and rejoice in every death. I had to atone for still living despite what they called my traitor blood.’

‘The bloody buggering cruel monsters’, Amaryllis spat. ‘They they… I have no words. I truly do not have words for it. How- how did you?’

She could see her friend going through apprehension, anger and fury in rapid succession.

‘Bold of you to assume I coped in anyway. I was drowning. Every day I was drowning. Sinking deeper and deeper. Retreating into myself. By the time I escaped, it was easier to pretend I was somebody else and not speak of it. It’s like there’s a part of my mind that’s too black and too dark to bear the light of day, that’s better left locked. The darkness is still there now. It was only once I came here and started feeling a little bit safe, had some good experiences, that the sharp jagged edges of my grief started softening. Only time, distraction and good memories can soften the grief.’

‘You believe there’s nothing we can do? Or say? To make it more bearable?’

Sansa halted, leaning against a column as she watched people flock in through the main gates. The gardeners, the builders, the kitchen crew, all were heading towards the castle sept. Some stopping to talk to acquaintances they spotted.

The procession made her think back on the procession along the King’s Road so long ago.

And as she thought back on it, so returned the memories of her first ever loss.

 _Lady_.

Her heart dropped as she remembered the name.

She had been shattered, torn. It felt like a piece of her soul had been ripped from her.

She knew it was silly, she’d only had the pup for a couple of moons. And losing a pet could not be like losing a family member. Yet she had ached for days. In just a couple of months she had become so attuned to the beast. They both seemed to pick up on each other’s needs and moods wordlessly.

Her father had comforted her with words.

But it had been Jeyne who held her at night as she cried.

Jeyne who filled the void a little by staying by her side. Sansa knew she hadn’t appreciated Jeyne as she should have. She had been too absorbed by her grief to give the girl attention, there were entire days where she barely spoke a word. And had sometimes even lashed out and treated the girl coldly for no reason. She felt like no one could possibly understand her grief. A sorrow that was so big it consumed her body. The pain went beyond what words could express, and so she hadn’t spoken.

But on the moments Jeyne left, Sansa had felt the walls closing in on her. Panic froze her body. And fear clutched her heart. She couldn’t be alone.

‘There is’, Sansa answered softly.

She had to go to Willas. Not that she had ever wanted not to go to him. She just felt like she wasn’t allowed to go.

_As long as there is someone there for him, so he can speak when he wants to. And perhaps someone to hold onto if his body can no longer bear his sorrow. It doesn’t have to be me. As long as he isn’t lonely like me._

Two men stopped on the other side of the colonnade, cleaning their hands in one of the decorative water fountains.

Amaryllis scoffed at their bad manners.

‘What is to become of the Tyrells now? I heard the losses were great.’

‘I don’t know, but the old lord really should reconsider his next few moves. He’s playing the game of thrones while his most valuable son was out here fighting for the Reach.’

‘Isn’t the most valuable one still alive?’

‘But he’s hardly fit to sit atop a horse, let alone lead an army. He’s up there in his office all day, doing lord knows what. And that younger brother is part of the Kingsguard. Nice and all, but that don’t keep our lands safe from harm. Ser Garlan now, he was the best one. Always working. Talking to everyone. Married a good girl from the Reach. Just earned his castle and never set a foot in it. Poor lad. He’d have been the next lord Tarly if you gave him a few years.’

‘T is a big loss’, the other man admitted.

‘I say they’re our lords. They should put the Reach first. Now see our shores been ransacked and our men slain right before winter. ‘t Ain’t proper.’

‘Well, they lost one of theirs as well, it’s hardly like they haven’t been touched by these pirates as well. I believe they’ll feel the loss heavily.’

A third man joined them near the fountain, washing his muddy hands.

‘What’s all of this I hear? First I ‘eard our Ser Garlan’s dead. Now ‘is bro’er as well?’

‘What? Our lord?’

‘No, the young one.’

‘Ain’t he sup’oed to be at the Shields?’

‘Well I been digging out some o’ the last potatoes with Geor, one o’ his boys had gone with the Knight o’ Flowers to Dragonstone, then to the Shields. Son wrote him the lad disappeared as soon as they arrived, wantin’ to get in on some o’ the action in Oldtown.’

‘No way! Two sons? Not that the last one was any use, being Kingsguard, but that means Mace only has one kid left to provide an heir an’ e’s still unmarried.’

‘Tis high time for ‘im to. Houses are goin’ extinct left ‘n right.’

Sansa staggered backwards.

The heir problem. His unmarried status.

Critique on his father’s ambitions.

Everything Willas already feared.

If these simple farmers had thought of it, so would Willas.

‘Loras?’ Amaryllis said.

‘Loras dead as well? No. No, that couldn’t be.’

Yet her laugh sounded hollow and half mad. She thought it was possible. And so did Sansa. It sounded like Ser Loras. Rash, impulsive and so very brave.

‘I should go’, she decided.

‘You definitely should.’

After politely knocking on the door of his solar and waiting. And knocking again. She finally heard a scuffle. It was indeed Willas himself who opened the door.

He was alone.

Dressed in black.

She was at a loss for words, but they weren’t needed. He just left the door open as he returned to his desk.

‘So you heard.’

‘Everyone has I believe. All the people are flocking to the sept to pray.’

Willas struck as oddly calm as he sat down and took up his quill again.

‘They do? That’s… kind. I’m certain he would have appreciated the gesture’, he smiled sadly.

She wordlessly slid into the seat across him.

‘You are alone?’

‘Sent them all away. They were useless’, he answered.

‘I’ve just written a letter for the house sculptor to make a marble statue of him for in the crypts. I want it to be done by the time he… he… his body… arrives. His stone coffin has been ordered. I’ve already written letters for mother, father and Margaery.’

‘You have not been idle’, she said.

Empty words, but she was waiting for more words. But he appeared to be nothing but focussed, doing what he had to do as the sole family member who could prepare the funeral rites.

‘Oh, grandmother. I haven’t written to grandmother yet!’ he said as he looked up at her.

‘She’ll want to know.’

Willas nodded, taking a fresh sheet.

‘I fear my letters are too dry’, he admitted with a huffed laugh.

‘But how does somebody announce the death of a brother? Are there even words for it? Hello father. I am sorry to write to you concerning the death of your second son. He has died, despite fighting valiantly, in Oldtown. The city still stands, the Grejoys defeated. We lost some men, but not too many it is said, unfortunately, one of the few is your son my brother’, Willas mimicked as he dipped his quill in the ink jar.

So he did not believe Loras was dead?

His eyes flew to her. Cold blue piercing her eyes.

‘Loras can’t be dead’, he answered.

She blushed, dread filling her. Had she voiced that aloud? She could hit herself.

‘I’m glad. My lord.’

He shook his head.

‘He can’t be dead. He can’t. How would he have gotten there? He’d have to have sailed all night just to get there in time. He couldn’t have been there for longer than two hours. It’s ridiculous. Loras is rash. But that rash?’ he laughed.

He smiled like Littlefinger then. A great big toothy grin. But it didn’t reach his eyes.

Two hours was enough to die. And Loras was rash enough to go.

She nodded.

‘Is there anything I can do to help?’

‘Is there anything you can do to help with funeral preparations? I don’t think so’, he smiled tiredly.

She nodded quietly, rising and moving to stand behind him.

He looked up at her. Despite their shared evenings, there were still deep blue bags beneath his eyes. She pressed a kiss against his forehead.

‘Alright. But I’m still here. In case you need me. Or want me. For whatever reason. No matter the hour.’

‘Never mind me. I’m fine. It’s… mother and father who lost a son… Leonette who lost a husband. They’re the ones who deserve your pity. Please go, I don’t want to keep you here. You must have more useful occupations.’

‘But you lost a brother. It’s a different kind of loss. You’re allowed to mourn too.’

‘It’s fine. Perhaps… I haven’t fully realized he’s gone yet. I don’t know why I’m not distraught right now. But I’m not going to waste away my time waiting for the tears to come. I’ll arrange as much as I can, before any grief comes knocking on my door. It’s my job to ensure the funeral runs smoothly. Perhaps that makes me a cold monster, but it’s the responsible thing to do’, he admitted.

He laid a hand against her face.

‘You know, I’ve rarely seen young maidens as dutiful as you… as honourable, as kind and gentle.’

Family. Duty. Honour.

He’d almost called her the Tully words.

Alayne tried to smile, but failed. She would go, for now. But it sat uneasy with her. These hollow looks and empty smiles were the same ones she’d given others when she tried to convince them she was fine.

‘Alright… I. Uhm. I’ll see if I can be useful. I’ll light a couple of candles for your brother.’

He leant up and pressed another kiss on her lips.

‘I’m so sorry for your loss, Willas. Truly. Words can’t describe it. Garlan was…I know what he was to you. He was the brother you grew up with. Your close friend. I… It’s not easy and my praying for him won’t make your suffering any less. Hardly anything will. But I wish to offer my sincerest condolences for your loss. I know losing your brother leaves a hole in your heart that is not easily filled.’

She felt he saw right through her in that moment, as he slowly nodded.

‘If there ever were gods, I wonder why they gave up such a devout follower and good person, instead of the rotten characters of King’s Landing. But I know he found his solace in praying. Pray for him for me as well. I’m afraid I’ve quite forgotten how to pray and how to believe’, he said softly.

That too, Sansa understood. She knew the holy words and chants by heart, but they did not come from her heart anymore.

She pressed a final kiss to his temple and left him, against her own wishes, and visited the overflowing sept.

A new stock of candles had to be added since all the ones inside were already burning. The castle sept was hot from the hundreds of burning candles, the gorgeous glass in lead windows, painted ceilings and shiny tiles coated in golden light. It reeked of incense, the scent so cloying it was suffocating.

For good measure Sansa ran to the garden and plucked some remaining golden and red roses and laid them down in front of the Warrior and the Stranger before she slipped out permanently.

Then off she was, through hedges and over fallen tree trunks until she found the three ancient gnarly trees whose canopies were interlaced. One laughing face. One solemn face. One angry.

The three singers.

She laid down the bouquet of yellow roses she’d plucked on her way there.

In the stuffed sept, full of artifice and whispering people, she had not felt the presence of the gods. But here, with only the dying greenery and the wind around her, she felt the gods. This felt like a sanctuary.

For a second she imagined there was a presence there with her. And after she finished her prayer, the wind picked up, and she could swear a red tear bled down the cheek of the solemn face. 

She couldn’t help but feel she was still in the wrong place. And she needed to be with Willas instead.

Even on the far end of the woods within the highest walls, Sansa could hear the music flowing out of the sept. Hymns for the Seven, hymns for the dead.

Walking through the castle, already songs had been made in honour of their soldiers.

_High and Proud the Hightower stands_

_The city is freed_

_Higher still the clouds shed tears_

_Sharing their widows’ grief_

_In the battle before winter our sons just wanted peace_

_But Crow’s eye’s raiders kept on giving them grief_

_To defend their homes and women_

_They picked up their shields_

_The crow’s eye was a madman true_

_He killed religion and worshipped himself_

_But even krakens couldn’t save him_

_From our men’s swords_

‘Back already?’

‘He was busy. I wasn’t needed’, Sansa answered Amaryllis as she sank down beside her for dinner.

The Tyrell banners had been torn down in the hall, and were replaced with solid black banners. The fare was sober, but the wine was ample.

Before dinner started, there was a collective prayer and a few moments of silence.

‘He had company?’

‘No. He had sent them all away. But he was arranging his affairs. I felt I couldn’t stay when he expressed he was busy and I could go. I told him I was there if he needed me.’

Amaryllis nodded.

‘About needing you, could you help me with my wedding dress. There’s no one with better stitches and fine embroidery skills in the whole of the Reach’, Amaryllis begged.

‘Certainly’, Sansa smiled.

After dinner the great hall collectively sang Farewell My Brother, The Mother’s Tears and A Rose of Gold in honour of those who had died. A new procession towards the sept started. This time, they didn’t join.

She and Amaryllis withdrew in Lady Alerie’s rooms. From the windows, they could see septs lighting up the night sky for miles and miles. It appeared every sept was holding services to comfort the grieving tonight.

While they worked on Amaryllis’ wedding dress the two girls discussed the effects Garlan’s death would have on the Reach and the Tyrell family.

It was an odd dichotomy, one they exchanged uncomfortable laughs over as they sewed.

After a long silence, Amaryllis let out a deep sigh, before turning her face to her friend with a big smile.

‘We had better talk about joyful and innocent things. I’m not extremely superstitious but I’m not exactly eager to have my entire wedding dress made while discussing dead Tyrell husbands. If you understand.’

Sansa did.

‘So, I know it’s perhaps a bit cruel. But I can’t help but be curious. What part of the realm has the most attractive men?’

‘I’ve only ever been to King’s Landing, the Vale and the North… and now the Reach of course.’

‘That’s like four out of seven. And I’m sure you saw people from every part of the realm in King’s Landing.’

‘You are looking for flattery’ Sansa pointed out.

Amaryllis shrugged.

‘I don’t know. I never considered the men from my home handsome. I suppose I never looked at them that way. My brother was quite pretty though. My friend Jeyne always stuttered when Robb addressed her. It was incredibly ridiculous’, Sansa huffed, yet she couldn’t help but smile. It felt so good to talk about her family in an innocent fashion. She only ever talked about them in relationship to their deaths. But she hadn’t been there for their deaths. She’d been there when they lived. It felt so good to share memories of them.

‘Was he?’

‘I suppose so. He was a good combination of my father and my mother. Her blue eyes and brown hair, which lit up red when the sun shone on it. My father’s brow and build. Straight nose, nice cheekbones.’

Sansa chewed her lip.

‘Lovely smile. Almost always smiling.’

She supposed he hadn’t smiled a lot the last year of his life.

But that hadn’t been her Robb. That had been what the war made of him.

‘Sounds attractive. Then you look like him?’

‘Hm?’ Sansa looked back up.

‘I suppose so. Almost all of us took after our mother with our colouring. Tully eyes. Tully hair. Tully cheekbones. All of us. Except for Arya… and Jon.’

‘Jon?’

‘Jon Snow. He… was my father’s bastard son. He was raised with us. Last I heard, he had been named captain of the Night’s Watch.’

‘Raised with the trueborn children? That’s very kind’, Amaryllis smiled softly.

Sansa nodded, guilt eating at her conscience. She accidently pricked herself on her needle and quickly withdrew it before she stained the fabric.

‘My father raised him as his son. And my siblings adored him. He was somewhat quiet, but gentle. Grew up right beside Robb and Theon. Played with Arya. Carried Bran and Rickon around. My mother disliked him though.’

‘Ah, always the case unless they birthed them’, Amaryllis sighed, the light in her eyes extinguishing.

Jon had been a sibling to everyone. Giving love and attention to all Stark children. Except for her. She had always kept him at a distance because her mother disliked him. She had thought herself so proper and refined, treating him “as he was supposed to be treated”, as a tarnish. A smear on her parents’ perfect marriage.

But now she had walked a mile in his shoes.

Now she had lost all her other siblings.

She was nothing short of ashamed of how she’d treated him. She had turned up her nose at him for something he could do nothing about. He had been blameless. She had been unfair and cruel.

She couldn’t tell Amaryllis. She just couldn’t.

It would hurt the girl so.

And she wasn’t that Sansa anymore. She had learned. She knew better now.

‘Then what did they look like?’ Amaryllis asked with a smile, unaware to Sansa’s self-loathing.

‘Like proper Northerners. Long of face, stormy grey eyes, dark brown hair, tall.’

Amaryllis clucked her tongue.

‘And the men in the Vale?’

‘They come in all shapes and colours. Blond, red, black, brown. Bearded or smooth of cheek, though the latter is more common. They’re more welcoming than the Northerners too, but also looser of moral. They have many children out of marriage, believe all unmarried lowborn girls belong to them. They’re arrogant too. I suppose some are handsome. Ser Hardyng looked like he was hewn from marble, his face chiselled by the mountain wind. But he had this smug pompous look on his face, he knew how pretty he was. Blond, blue-eyed and as vain as he was tall.’

‘Oh man, I do love your descriptions’, Amaryllis grinned.

‘Okay, and for the Reach?’

‘The men aren’t as tall here as they are in the North, on average. But they are more broad and muscular. There are better dressed though, and look a lot more welcoming and jovial. Personally I’m quite fond of curls and there are plenty of people here with them. Their manners make them as handsome as their looks, and more deserving of praise.’

‘We got plenty of cocky knights here though. Young lads searching for glory, still as green behind their ears as Garth Greenhand was of hair. Give a man a fine frock, and his shoulders broaden in size. Give him a single tourney victory, and he believes himself Aegon The Conqueror. Give them one military experience and he believes he can join the old veteran table. Don’t flatter them too much, Ala-Sansa. You just haven’t had too much experiences with them since they’re off for war at present.’

Sansa smiled and looked back on her needlework.

‘But I do want a list though. Of the most handsome men. At least a top ten. And only known names. If you can.’

‘Known names?’

‘Names I know. And don’t think I only know men of the Reach. I heard stories from knights and lords all over the Seven Kingdoms.’

Sansa nodded, biting her lip as she put her needle through a flower she’d been embroidering. It was almost finished.

‘Let’s see. There’s Ser Loras. Obviously’, Sansa smiled, unable to stop the blush.

‘Of course, that’s fair’, Amaryllis grinned cheekily.

She was being sloppy on the lacework of her sleeve. Sansa cringed at the uneven work at the end of the cape sleeve. She would try and save it after Amaryllis was done with it.

‘Then hmm. Oh. Lord Renly. Definitely. He was the most handsome man I had seen at the time. And the first man too. I can still remember at the tourney King Robert threw for my father how Jeyne went wild for Lord Beric Dondarrion but I thought him too old’, Sansa laughed, shaking her head at the memory.

‘He couldn’t have been much over twenty, and I found him too old. Probably because I was so young. Not that Jeyne was older than me. I guess she just saw age differently.’

Amaryllis swallowed it up like lemon cakes.

‘I’ve seen Lord Renly and I can definitely agree. But what does Lord Beric Dondarrion look like?’

‘He had red-gold hair, was slight of build, had blue eyes. He was dressed handsomely, that’s for sure. Perhaps I can understand her infatuation a little now’, Sansa admitted.

‘Mhm, he does sound dreamy. And afterwards, how he founded the Brotherhood Without Banners and bugged the crap out of Lord Tywin? I mean, I _really_ get it. Man had looks and morals.’

‘I heard he died’, said Sansa.

‘Me too, but then I hear a new story of how the Brotherhood including Lord Beric attacked the Lannisters. Riverland stories really go around here. We’re all hungry for the next instalment.’

‘Really? Why?’

‘Well, for starters. As long as there’s war and fighting in the Riverlands, the Crown Lands will keep pestering us for food while before they used the Riverlands as much as our lands. Secondly, we have families fighting there. Thirdly, any idea how juicy those stories are? Murder weddings, rogues fighting against armies, castles under siege that refuse to fall. Better than fiction.’

‘I suppose it makes sense’, Sansa admitted. Though she didn’t wish to dwell on the Riverlands and the misery within them.

‘Ser Garlan was quite handsome too, though not as handsome as his brother.’

Amaryllis nodded.

Sansa stretched her memory to think of people she considered attractive or at least handsome. Her stomach turned when she remembered she had once found Joffrey the human embodiment of protection. The memory made her want to retch.

Now she could only remember him, smiling cruelly as he sat upon his throne as she was beaten.

Then, as sudden as that memory came, it was replaced by the memory of the Hound shielding her with his cloak and helping her upright. But she couldn’t say that. He was hardly handsome compared to the other men she met.

She pushed her memory further.

‘Ser Jaime Lannister’, she replied but her mouth contorted with contempt. ‘He is handsome. But he is a Lannister. No matter how pretty they are… you can bet they’re horrible within.’

It was unfair to Tommen and Tyrion, but it was true for the majority.

‘Yes, I heard that he looked like a true prince charming. I wonder if he still looks as good though, after being captive for months and losing his sword hand.’

‘I don’t know. He only arrived in King’s Landing after Joffrey died. I was gone by then’, Sansa shrugged.

‘I guess I’ll have to put Harrold Hardyng up in this list. I described him already’, she sighed.

Harry, the man she was supposed to marry but did not like. The knight who looked like he came straight out of a story-book. The cocky youth who by now was probably married and off fighting in the Riverlands. It didn’t even bother her. But perhaps regret would come later, once Lord Baelish’ undoubtedly angry letter arrived telling her she had given up on Winterfell and would now forever be stuck.

But talking of the Vale did give her other ideas.

‘Ser Lyn Corbray is quite handsome despite his age. He is in his thirties but although thin, quite muscled, with a strong jaw, aquiline nose and thick shoulder-length brown hair. He has green eyes I believe.’

‘Something tells me you’re not so fond of blond men’, Amaryllis smiled.

‘I believe that’s entirely the fault of the Lannisters. I fell for Joffrey. And then he mistreated me. Queen Cersei mistreated me. Lord Tywin married me to Tyrion. They murdered my family. They carry the faces of evil torment.’

Amaryllis was shocked by her strong hateful words, but pity shone through her eyes.

‘And then…’

Her cheeks glowed and her heartbeat picked up.

She couldn’t even say it.

‘What?’ Amaryllis pressed.

Sansa shook her head, some of the loose parts of her hair falling to the front and shielding her face.

‘No!’ Amaryllis laughed.

‘Lord Willas?’

When she said nothing, her friend laughed.

‘He isn’t ugly. But to put him up there with the most handsome men of the realm? Oh this is rich. Up there with Ser Loras and Lord Renly and the bloody Kingslayer?’

Her blush deepened.

‘He’s crippled.’

‘Does that make him ugly?’

Sansa looked up. Her friends stared at her in surprise, as if it had never crossed her mind that somebody who was maimed could be handsome.

‘He can’t even walk properly.’

‘You can’t even see his leg. He wears clothes.’

‘And the scars? That broken nose? His hair doesn’t even curl properly compared to his brothers. Or most other Tyrells, like my Garther.’

‘It’s thick and a nice length and smells delicious’, Sansa defended immaturely.

‘Not that I would know’, Amaryllis laughed.

‘His nose gives him character. I believe. And his scars are far from the worst I’ve seen. And, well. Take Mark Mullendore. If it was up to Megga she would marry him, despite the fact he lost a part of his arm during the Battle of the Blackwater.’

‘Megga likes all kinds of men, and even better when they’re a bit rough’, Amaryllis smiled.

‘I’m sorry Sansa, I’ve been unfair. We can’t discuss tastes in men. All the better you find him handsome, and logical as well. You wouldn’t be as eager to talk to him and kiss him if you didn’t. I suppose in a way, he has again become the most handsome Tyrell son, now that Garlan’s gone and with all the talk of Loras being injured like that on Dragonstone.’

‘Amaryllis! That’s an awful thing to say. That’s like people telling me I’m the prettiest Stark and the Stark heir now. That’s nothing nice or fun, knowing I only became it due to the death of my siblings.’

‘I’m sorry. I’m just… Trying to cope I guess. Excuse me. It’s in poor taste. I just don’t know how to deal with it. I guess I’m trying to lighten the mood.’

‘Well it was lighter until you said that’, Sansa pointed out.

‘I don’t envy the two of you’, Amaryllis said quietly.

‘I don’t know what it’s like and never will.’

‘No it’s fine. I lashed out. I apologize’, Sansa sighed.

A knock on the door interrupted them.

‘Come in’, Amaryllis said in a decided serious tone, straightening her back.

Sansa recognized her as the woman who often came to clear their plates after she and Willas were done eating.

‘Excuse me, ladies’, the older woman stammered as she stumbled through a curtesy. Despite their bastard status, they were still ladies-in-waiting and amongst the most respected staff members.

‘Lady Stone, could I speak to you for a minute.’

‘You may’, Alayne said, remaining seated.

‘She can hear.’

‘I’m afraid she can’t. It’s kind of private.’

Alayne shot Amaryllis an apologetic look and followed the woman out of the room.

‘It’s Lord Willas, milady. He still hasn’t eaten.’

That was indeed odd and troubling, although understandable on a day like this.

‘Why are you telling me this?’

‘It’s not my place to pry. But in this castle we care for the Tyrells. And it’s only that when I went to fetch his plate. But right as I was about to go in Abel, the boy from the Rookery exited. And well, I daren’t go in. I heard shouting and slamming. I asked the boy what happened and what news he’d brought. Told me since it was public, he’s a good lad, he wouldn’t tell things he wasn’t allowed to. Told me it was a letter from the lord’s grandfather saying Ser Loras was amongst the dead.’

‘They hadn’t recognized him at first. It was only when a man in the nursery, someone from house Cupps, said he had come with Ser Loras, they realized that a man found not far from Ser Garlan, dressed in silver and sapphire armour, was in fact his brother. Oh, it’s just horrible. Both his brothers dead on the same day, died not feet removed from each other. As I said I don’t like to pry. But we have eyes milady, and we know you are a comfort to him. We don’t talk of it. But we know. So if you please. I believe he needs you now more than ever.’

‘Thank you. You may go’, Alayne said quietly.

The woman nodded and quickly rushed away, seemingly ashamed of her indiscretion.

So it was true. Loras had rushed towards Oldtown head over heels, and died fighting beside his brother.

The most beautiful knight in all of the Seven Kingdoms, unrecognisable even as he was wearing his famous armour.

It seemed just yesterday he’d given her that rose during the Tourney of the Hand.

All stories Willas had told her of his playfighting with Garlan and shared moments with Loras came back to her.

He had wanted for nothing, only for his family to be reunited in Highgarden, safe and sound.

Now instead of their warm embrace and handsome faces, he would get cold coffins.

Two brothers lost in one day, she knew just what such a blow felt like. She could just imagine how powerless and angry he felt.

‘Amaryllis. I need to go’, Sansa said quickly as she pulled open the door.

‘Sure, go. It's him, right?’

Sansa nodded.

'I don't know what to say, but you understand what I mean when I say good luck, right?'

'I do', Sansa said.

And then she was off.

It would be a long night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for your kind comments the previous chapter, I'm so glad you liked it. 
> 
> I know it was kind of vague whether Loras or Garlan died, but that was kind of deliberate. Garlan blew his last before Loras died, so I didn't want to write about it too much. And in the end, it was a fitting way for Loras to go. He went mad with grief when Renly died, slaying his own brothers of the Rainbow guard, and I found it ever so fitting that he'd have the same reaction to Garlan's death, who was at one point called 'Renly's Ghost'. 
> 
> To be honest Loras is just not meant to live, he's always rash and impulsive in battle, fighting with a lot of emotion. And I also feel like he just doesn't have a lot of desire to live. He's kind of like Beric and Jaime, born on the battlefield, and not good off of it. But while Beric had a goal and Jaime people in his life he loves, I feel like even his love for his family won't spare Loras.
> 
> Prepare for quite some sadness, and plot progression in the next chapter, but after the next chapter, things will start brightening again.


	18. Lord Willas rises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Willas discovers Loras died as well. Sansa tries to comfort him, but Willas is inconsolable. But in his grief, hefinds the strength to continue and become the lord he wants to be, setting up his own rules and boundaries.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is a heavy one.  
> Contains major grief, survivor guilt, anger and funeral discussions. If that's currently too heavy, perhaps turn away for now.
> 
> Although...  
> to make up for the heaviness: a very important ending that pushes the plot.
> 
> In the chapter I mention the Tyrell family crypts, for anyone who's curious about them and wants to imagine them as they're reading the chapter, here's the link: https://growingstronglikeahighgardenrose.tumblr.com/post/628180590360969217/tyrell-family-crypts-a-moodboard.

_**Willas POV** _

**_“I felt that I breathed an atmosphere of sorrow”_ **

**_\- Edgar Allan Poe_ **

****

Time stopped the hour the moon stood right above his window.

A thief had snuck in and stolen all drawers filled with joy, all baskets filled with happiness and smashed the windows of all display cabinets that had yet to be filled with tender memories.

The universe had stopped.

Or it should have.

And all the world should have been silenced.

All fire extinguished.

There was no light in this world of darkness.

No warmth.

He threw a glass jar at the moon. How dare it continue its path as if nothing had happened while everything had changed.

Two bodies.

Two brothers.

His sister was a Baratheon. In one day, he'd gone from one of three to the single one.

The first and the last Tyrell sibling left standing.

He should have gone first. Yet here he stood, defying the natural order with every breath he took.

He need to do something. He ought to have done something. Surely, there was something he could have done? His brothers had gone and he had done nothing.

They sacrificed their lives for his realm.

And now he would get them back in boxes.

His fault.

His burden.

Had he still been a whole man, it would have been him standing there and fighting. But now his brothers had fought his battles while he lay sleeping.

Could he sleep again?

How dared he rest while they had gone?

How dare he live, when it had to be the other way around.

Two roses had died, and now only their thorns remained as he remembered them. The memories pricked him, his feelings for them made his insides bleed.

He always knew it was the greatest tragedy and greatest pleasure to love, for all that lived would once die. To not experience grief, he would have to give up love.

So instead he’d been determined to love his family ferociously, every single day. So that he should never regret having wasted a moment with them without appreciating it.

But now he feared his grief, it was as violent as his love, and consumed him whole.

Loras still had to turn eight-and-ten, yet he had already accomplished so much. He had made a king, loved a king and served three kings. He won almost every fight he entered, broke the heart of every man and woman he met. In less than five years, he would have at least a dozen songs written about him, and in a decade, he would have joined the ranks of the realm’s most famous knights, right up there with Leo Tyrell, Arthur Dayne and Serwyn of the Mirror Shield. A rose cut as it was barely budden. It was perhaps a bigger loss than had he died of old age. Now no one would ever see just what his youngest brother was capable of.

And Garlan, his sweet Garlan. The pudgy boy who loved summer puddings and fruit tarts a bit too much, who had to be hugged by his older brother during thunder storms, who woke him up at dawn to ride on the back of his horse underneath the pink skies to watch the Reach awaken, who threw tantrums when he was still too young to go foxhunting while his older brother went, who needed ever so much time to learn how to read and could not even sit patiently as his older brother learned him how. His attention span was too short, and the letters floated in front of his eyes. Willas hadn’t understood but had tried so hard to help him through it. By the time Loras struggled in the same way, Garlan knew it was better to combine words and letters with pictures to keep the young boy going, for he had even less patience to learn than Garlan.

The pudgy boy who had grown up to be a lanky lad with round cheeks, already flirting as much as his brother when he was but two-and-ten and finally allowed to attend a ball. The boy who made the same rooky mistake that spoke volumes of his confidence and inexperience as his older brother and had to throw up at the end of the night, his soft curls held back by his laughing brother.

When he left for Dorne, Garlan had just started preparing Loras who would soon be off to squire at Storm’s End. Garlan three-and-ten and as good-humoured as the knights of song, slightly jealous but very encouraging. Loras eight and overly eager to swap his wooden sword for a real one, his eyes growing wide with wonder as he saw his brother dressed in plate armour for the first time. And little Margaery, smiling sweetly as she gave Willas a bouquet of roses and told him to return her handkerchief to her like a real lady.

By the time he returned Garlan was in plate armour, Loras was gone, and the warm pride in his father’s eyes had been replaced with pity every time he set his eyes on his older son.

And then Garlan had continued to succeed everywhere Willas had failed. He became a knight and won every tourney he entered. He found a girl from one of the old houses of the Reach and courted her like a proper noble lord should. He charmed his way into everyone’s graces and went on many diplomatic missions, made friends in all noble houses of the Reach. In all ways, he would have made a better lord than Willas, it was a misfortune he had been born second. But Willas had been glad that he would forever have his brother. His brother was skilled and talented and able and forever loyal to house Tyrell. He was the perfect asset to a lord, and a true emotional crutch to his brother. If anyone deserved to live. If anyone needed to live, it was Garlan.

He had everything going for him.

The grief and frustration spun his muscles tight, fingers cramping to hold something, to throw something.

He could still feel the warrior instincts deep within him.

He ached to hold a sword.

If his enemies were real, he was sure that even his leg wouldn’t have stopped him from hacking them down with all the violence he’d bottled up the past decade.

It would be so gratifying to hear his sword sing.

So relieving to let all the energy flow out of him with hacks and swishes.

So delightful to feel his bones buzz as he hacked through wood or bone.

He wanted to feel tired to the bone like he used to after a day of fighting. Back then sleep had come easy. But fate had stolen that satisfaction from him.

He would forever remember fighting, without ever being able to taste it again.

He wanted to attack his problems, but they were air.

And so all the frustrations remained contained within him.

He clenched his fingers around his ink jar.

With a sob he propelled the jar across the room, where it hit the side of the map table and shattered with a sharp clattering sound.

It was music to his ears.

For a second, his heart and muscles felt lighter.

He couldn’t write it.

How could he write to his family that not one but both of his brothers had died?

He couldn’t.

He wiped away his tears.

Mother. Father. Grandmother. Leonette.

The sculptor.

The septon.

The local silent sisters.

He had to do it all over again.

He might as well be charged to build a new wall in the North or defeat winter. It was just as impossible.

He would need magic to find the courage.

Perhaps his grandfather still had some stashed away, or perhaps he could leach some courage from the mad imprisoned ironborn king.

He looked up again, and suddenly everything in the room angered him.

How could it all stand there peacefully?

Why wasn’t the room as destroyed as he was? It ought to.

He wiped everything off his desk.

What use were papers?

What use were books?

They wouldn’t bring his brothers back.

A sharp bang notified him that the porcelain plate with untouched food had fractured to pieces.

Well, what good was food? Food was for the living and his brothers were dead. How could he eat when they never would again?

He was snapped out of his thoughts by a cold hand around his wrist. There was already another around his shoulder.

Long slim female fingers.

The heat rushed out of his body, leaving him cold and heaving in her grasp.

The cloud of grief lifted, and with shock he realized he had been about to throw down his father’s bust.

She had stopped him just in time.

‘I-‘ but what could he say?

Were there words to explain his actions? Could he explain his feelings? Words were insufficient for what he felt and thought.

‘I know’, she breathed quietly.

The grief was joined by shame and remorse as he looked around the ravage.

The table with the map of Westeros rose out of a lake of ink and glass.

The space between his and his father’s desk was a sea of books.

Chairs lay scattered, paintings had fallen down, felled by books and jars and everything he’d gotten his hands on.

He was a failure.

He couldn’t be a knight.

Couldn’t fight his own battles.

And now he couldn’t even mourn with dignity.

‘This afternoon I felt nothing.’

His voice sounded so frail and uneven. He hated it. He wanted to be powerful. So powerful no one could ever hurt his family again.

‘Now I feel everything.’

He could feel her lips against his neck in an almost detached manner.

Suddenly he felt too disgusted with himself to bear her touch.

Too embarrassed to be seen by her.

‘It’s alright to break sometimes. Life and beauty lie in the fragility of the petals. A rose that never wilts is not a rose at all’, she recited from a poem he vaguely recognized.

But he couldn’t hear about wilting roses right now.

‘Please go.’

‘Do you want me to?’ she asked quietly, her great blue eyes sad and shimmering as if she herself was almost at the point of tears.

He was ugly and shattered and weak and raw with grief. He didn’t wish to be this person. And if he wasn’t seen like this, perhaps he still had chances of being that person. It made pretending to be that person easier.

‘I need… I need to write to everyone.’

He righted his shoulders. Yes, that was what he had done that afternoon. He didn’t know how he would do it, but he would find a way. And then she’d be gone.

She brushed past him in her dark blue dress with a black band tied around her middle.

The black ink seeped into her skirts as she bent down to pick up the glass pieces drifting in the lake of ink.

‘Do you have a spare jar, my lord?’ she asked quietly.

He shook his head. Not here. He’d smashed both.

She turned around, black ink dripping from her hands like blood.

‘I’m afraid it’ll be difficult to write those letters tonight.’

Her eyes were so big. So blue.

And everything else was black, black, black.

_Let the gardeners paint the roses black as a sign of mourning, all bright roses have died._

Her hand floated right above his cheek. She didn’t wish to stain him with the ink.

But he needed her warmth.

Yet at the same time, he didn’t wish to grant himself anything. His brothers would never know a warm embrace again.

He stepped closer.

And then he shattered.

He felt weak and small and unworthy.

So unworthy as she held him quietly.

It was like she knew there were no words in his world of grief.

‘I didn’t do anything’, he said after a while. Was it hours? Was it minutes?

‘There was nothing to be done from here’, she replied.

‘I was just… here. Useless.’

‘I know.’

She did know, his brain supplied him.

She was Sansa Stark, who lost all her siblings and both her parents.

He was crying for two brothers while she had no one left. She had lost four siblings while he had lost two. And soon he would have at least his mother, grandmother and good-sister back. She had no one.

She knew grief like no other. Yet she still stood.

It only made him feel worse for being weak in front of her.

Over her shoulder, the map gleamed in the candlelight. The pieces still stood where he’d left them last night.

He tore away from her. His mind recreating the battle as he’d tried to envision it that afternoon. But it was too fantastical.

Krakens? Flying sphinxes of stone? The Greyjoy king blowing his horn from the roof of the Oldtower before being taken down by the magic of his aunt Malora whilst Leyton Hightower lay bleeding.

The last kingsblood sacrifice of Euron grejoy. But Lord Leyton lived, and whatever magic King Euron had tried to perform backfired, turning him into a tentacled crazy mess.

And while they had fought in that tower, his brother had bravely lead his troupes into the city. And there, where battle was thickest, both his brothers had died. The brave one and the reckless one.

He wondered if they had fought back to back.

If one had seen the other die.

The images and questions were still as painful as they had been when he first imagined them.

He could bear the sight no longer.

He’d paid for victory with his brothers’ blood.

He slashed down all carefully placed pieces on the giant map, scattering them across the board and sending them skipping across the floor.

They watched the pieces break and crack as they flew and bumped over the stone tiles.

White boats drowning in the sea of ink.

They had both lived through this pain.

He wondered if she too had felt as angry, frustrated and powerless. If she too wanted to take fate into her hands and make decisions, instead of just having to watch events unfold.

‘This is where it ends.’

‘Willas?’

He carefully plucked a Tyrell pawn from King’s Landing. He could feel Sansa’s worry. Perhaps he did come across unhinged at this moment.

‘We’re done with the game. My father can go fuck himself. I’ll be damned if I see anyone else go. The second Arianne tells me this Aegon is real, I’ll declare for him and drag my sister home, safe behind the walls of Highgarden. The Seven Kingdoms can burst.’

‘Ar- Arianne Martell? What Aegon? The prince who died?’ she stammered.

His other arm swept across the board, slamming into the remaining pieces like a bomb and sending them sprawling.

‘Arianne Martell. And the prince who apparently didn’t die.’ His voice was calm, but inside the storm still raged.

He leaned across the map, white fingers clutching around the wooden edges.

He had difficulty breathing in, even though his lungs burned.

Yet, he felt an odd calm coming over him.

He raked a hand through his hair.

It came back black. She’d touched him with the ink on her hands.

‘I made all these plans, and dreamed all those dreams as if I had time.’

‘That’s normal… You can’t live as if every day is your last, or the last of your relatives. It’s not healthy. It’s no way to live’, she said.

‘Yet, I should be mindful of the possibility. Futures have been stolen, lives cut short. All because me and mine were playing by their rules while they break them to win. What do virtue and honour gain us? Others don’t play by the rules. Why should I? Littlefinger and the Lannisters cheated the game. The Grejoys cheated it. Had my grandfather not cheated as well, Oldtown would have fallen. Highgarden has been a soft power for too long. It’s the ruthless players that win.’

‘Your grief is speaking. You speak of deceit and ruthlessness and violating ancient customs and the laws of gods and men. You are a clever planner and a good man. You are better than them. Would you be able to live with yourself if you left behind your code? It is not in your nature to be ruthless?’

Willas laughed, but he could see her cringe at the coldness of it.

‘That’s where you are mistaken’, he hissed through clenched teeth.

‘You see in me the gentle brother. But I am not a planner by nature. I can be as rash as Loras, as ambitious as my father and as venomous as my grandmother. I chose not to be like that after my youthful rashness almost ruined me. But believe me, I can be. And oh, I want to be. I can live with a guilty conscious if it is what is needed to keep my family and the Reach safe.’

‘There’s darkness inside us all. I believe. It’s dormant in good people. It only grows if you feed it with hatred and anger. That’s what separates good men from bad ones. Please, don’t let the death of your brothers make a monster out of you. It was a monster who caused their death after all.’

He did not know what to reply to that. It was as if the Maiden herself had spoken. But he was but a confused unbeliever at her altar, struggling to make sense of her divine message.

She gingerly picked up some more pieces on the map.

The Targaryen dragon and another Tyrell pawn.

‘And how will that keep your realm and family safe?’

That was a practical question.

‘Don’t you want to see the Lannisters gone? They imprisoned Eddard Stark, they beheaded Eddard Stark. They arrested my sister, and for the present she is still living, but I live in fear every day. It is the Lannisters that caused the red wedding. It is the Lannisters that waged war in a way that all the lands are destroyed. It is the Lannisters that decided not to send help to the Reach in our time of need. What kind of regent refuses to send help towards the Reach? Who allowed one part of the realm to attack the other, resulting in the loss of innocent lives and the loss of very important crops and meat right at the start of winter? Even the mad king wouldn’t be so mad.’

She looked down, nodding.

‘Cersei is a madwoman. It would be a better world without her’, she answered icily.

Willas moved away from the map, but his bad leg slipped on the wet floor, sending him sprawling.

She was by his side in seconds, but not before he lay drenched in black, between the drowning pieces.

‘The game of thrones’, he laughed.

‘How can they even call it a game? It kills hundreds and thousands and they keep on playing it while winter is coming. I quit. If I could, I’d build a wall around the Reach. The others be damned. I’ve had enough of them.’

‘So you don’t want them dead, you just wish to surround yourself with good people’, she said, her voice filled with relief.

‘Surely, it is just to kill the wolves threatening the flock?’ he asked as he tried to push himself upright.

‘Only if it doesn’t come at the cost of killing a big part of the flock.’

She got him up with a lot of effort.

‘Great, now my leg has given up on me as well’, he laughed as he was deposited in his chair.

Black ink seeped through the dark green fabric. It was ruined. Now it would have to be dyed black.

 _So let it be,_ he decided, _it is only fitting._

‘Could you bring me to my chambers? I’m afraid my clothes are quite ruined.’

She wheeled him in. His manservant had fallen asleep on a chair waiting for him. He asked no questions, just quietly took over.

‘Will you wait for me please?’ Willas asked before his servant closed the door.

Perhaps he did not want to be alone after all.

He felt oddly calm as the soggy clothes were peeled off his body. Now the grief stained both his heart and his skin. He’d only had two pairs of black breeches and a single black doublet before, and not a single black shirt.

But now his servant put him in new black breeches, a shimmering patterned black shirt, and a thick black sleeveless doublet with rose buttons.

He rolled himself into the common area of his room. This was not how he’d imagined receiving her here, or why.

‘I thought it would have been nice to visit the hounds or the horses… Or perhaps even the hawks if they give you joy… but then I remembered that maybe that isn’t as possible tonight’, she admitted shyly.

Damned chair.

Damned leg.

‘You did not guess wrong. That’s where I usually go when I feel…’

Sad didn't even begin to describe it.

He sighed. He wouldn’t break again.

Looking up, he felt guilty for selfishly claiming her. The hour was very late. And they weren’t even in a public space. They were in _his_ rooms.

‘I apologize for asking you to stay. It wasn’t fair of me. The hour is late. I understand if you want to sleep. It is not because I can’t sleep that you shouldn’t.’

‘You asked. You gave me a choice.’

‘And did you choose to wait because you wanted to? Or because you felt you couldn’t say no to me?’

He rolled towards her and she came to him, sinking through her knees.

‘I chose to wait because no one should mourn alone.’

‘I… I won’t sleep tonight I think. You don’t need to stay. I can’t ask that of you.’

‘Then I’ll offer to stay.’

‘I’m not the best company right now. You’ve already seen… I do apologize for what you have seen, my lady. I usually have a better grip on myself.’

He couldn’t meet her gaze, his eyes flickered down, noticing her inky hemline.

‘I’ll have my dressmakers see to a new dress. It’s my fault yours got ruined. When are you free to have your measurements taken?’

‘Willas’, she said softly, laying her hand on his cheek.

‘Stop. It’s not urgent’, she breathed.

They sat on the couch. They lay on the couch.

Huddled in each other’s arms. Stroking the other’s hair.

It hit him just how entangled they already were.

He shared every night with her.

Exchanged every affection save the holy one.

She filled his dreams.

She filled his days.

She sat with him through his grief.

And advised him as he made policies.

If it hadn’t been for a cruel twist of fate, they would have been married a year ago.

As it was, he risked losing her as soon as Lord Baelish decided to reclaim her.

He wouldn’t let him. If she wanted to, he would keep her from Baelish forever.

He was done with bad people taking what they wanted.

His resolve grew and crumpled and grew throughout the night as the grief washed over him in waves.

Soft waves made him shiver, hitting him again with the realisation his brothers were dead.

‘I’m never going to have another Garlan again. I’ll have to be without him for the rest of my life’, he said in moments like that, disbelief still tinging his voice.

'Loras wasn't even supposed to be there. The bloody rash impulsive reckless lovely brave fool.'

Other times it hit him as a tidal wave, as he ran into a wall trying to imagine a future without them.

‘How can I be me when he isn’t here to be him?’

His words made absolute sense to him, but she oftentimes just buried her face against his chest and stroked his hair, not knowing what to make of his words.

‘How can he be dead? Everything was supposed to be fine. The Redwyne fleet was the greatest fleet of Westeros. Garlan had the largest troupes. My grandfather had a secret armada. Oldtown has such strong walls. And the place was filled to the brim with army generals and history maesters. So much knowledge and experience. They were supposed to win with ease… Garlan was coming home. He was coming home. And Leonette was coming home. They were going to have a babe. And then they’d move into their keep and he would become a lord. He wrote to me about it just days ago. He would be my most fateful bannerman. My very own Randyll Tarly. We were finally going to see each other again’, he rambled.

He was laughing. He was crying.

And then he was kissing her.

He could feel her lips opening in surprise, and he seized her mouth. Hands pulling her closer. He prayed he wasn’t too rough, because he was tired and angry and sad and he had little control over his emotions and body as it was.

All grief was burned away by a sudden wave of desire.

He needed her closer and closer. Close enough until she filled the void inside his chest threatening to consume him.

His hands scooped underneath her buttocks, the strength and pent up energy perfect for the purpose of lifting her into his lap and pressing her against him.

He needed.

He needed.

He needed.

After he had placed her on his lap, he tried not to touch her below her waist, pretending that as long as he didn’t there was still some properness and honour in his conduct.

His fingers tangled into her hair.

His nose inhaled the pine needle, vanilla and amber on her hair, and his lips tasted the sweetness of her flesh and the bitterness of her perfume.

He could hear her gasping. Could feel her heart racing underneath his palm.

 _Garlan can’t have this anymore_ , an intrusive voice whispered in his ear.

It only made him kiss and caress her neck with even more desperation.

He wanted to drown in her to drown out the grief.

He was using her. He should stop.

‘We shouldn’t.’

It didn’t even sound like his voice.

‘We should’, she admitted with laboured breath.

She slid off of him, their bodies cooling in the winter air breezing through the opened window.

Shame came to him, but only for a short while.

His mind fought against the shame.

Why couldn’t he have this? Why couldn’t she?

Hadn’t they lost enough? Been denied enough?

Wasn’t the reason they had continued kissing that life was too short to not seize the simple pleasures in life?

He could have this.

She could have this.

Fury boiled inside of him until it cooled down again, dissipating into smoke as an icy wave of grief struck.

The night was agony. His mood thrown from one violent emotion to the next.

He broke his resolve to not cry anymore. But he tried telling himself it were manly tears that fought their way out of his eyes.

The light in the room shifted. Candles started burning up, but the room was turning grey.

‘There can’t be another day’, he breathed.

‘I wish the world would stop turning.’

‘It doesn’t. It never does. No matter how badly we want to’, she said with a voice as full of pain as his.

‘I’m expected to arrange everything. To lead the Reach. To oversee…’

He didn’t know how he could do it.

Everything had changed.

‘I don’t know how I must work. How can I focus? What do they expect of me? Do they expect me to weep? Do they expect me to be strong? What is the face of mourning?’

He had so many questions, and they all flew out of his mouth.

‘There is a place where we pray. A place where we sleep. A place where we work and a place where we mourn. Mourn inside. Show your leader face outside. Your people know you care for your brothers. And you can show them through actions instead of tears. You have that power, to show your emotions through grand gestures. Have an ornate funeral. Erect statues in their honour. Makes heroes of them.’

Her voice broke on her final words. She had so bravely sat through the night, but in the morning she dissolved into sobs and tears.

The bodies of her brother and mother had been butchered and thrown away. Her father’s head put on a spike. Her younger brothers displayed on the walls of her ancestral home. Their graves held no stones. No statues were built in their honour. No songs were sung about them anymore. All were marked as traitors, their legacy tainted.

She advised him to do what she had been unable to do for her own family.

His heart bled for her.

He collected her in his arms.

At least he could support her in return for once.

‘It was awful what they did to them.’

He could feel the wetness where he had undone his buttons. She sobbed right against his neck.

‘They’re monsters’, she gasped, her cold fingers clinging to the back of his neck.

He rubbed soothing circles on her back.

‘How do you cope? I feel like this pain will never end.’

‘It won’t. It won’t go. You take it with you. But it gets lighter, after a while.’

Her chest was still quick to rise and fall. She gasped every so many words. But he noticed she was trying to regain control.

Then she stilled in his arms.

Her breath stocking.

She drew back haltingly, her eyes wide.

Her lips moved wordlessly.

‘I know’, he admitted.

‘What do you know?’

It hurt to hear the fear in her voice.

‘You’re Sansa Stark, aren’t you?’

‘H-how did you?’

‘I kept a list of things that didn’t add up’, he admitted with shame. ‘I knew there was something about you… But it was only after the accident in the glass house that I found out.’

‘Was it a long list?’ she asked after a while.

‘Not really.’

‘How long is not really?’

‘About thirty points.’

Her face fell against his chest again, her skull hard against his clavicle.

‘I am a stupid little bird. Can’t tell a lie to save my life’, she moaned.

‘I am confused, my lord. Why keep up the charade? Why not send me away? I lied to your family. I lied to you. I’m a traitor. My presence endangers your family even more. You just said how you would do everything to keep your family and the Reach safe.’

She grew distanced, her words become as formal as they were in the beginning.

He couldn’t bear it. The coldness was too much for his mourning heart.

‘You didn’t come here and endanger my family on your own accord. You didn’t start this lie. Lord Baelish sent you here and he is for the present still our ally and everyone believed you to be his daughter so there was no need in sending you away. And while here you risked betraying yourself to help us with our winter preparations. You worked hard every day to help the Reach despite gaining nothing from it. You saved me during the solstice. And the past week you’ve been there for me every evening. Why should I have cast you out?’

‘You’re not angry?’

‘I was angry, and I felt very foolish for buying it for so long.’

She turned away from him, wiping at her eyes again before she rose from the couch.

‘But then I remembered one of the first things you said to me. You said you were a useless songbird. A pawn with no power. You were powerless. It would be cruel to judge you based on anything but your actions here, in the Reach. And those were good, and deserving of gentleness and appreciation.’

‘What does it matter what I do or what I deserve? Everyone only ever sees me for my claim. Cersei still sees me as a traitor no matter whether I’m still officially one. And she’ll see a political move in my presence.’

‘Cersei doesn’t rule King’s Landing anymore.’

‘She might as well’, Sansa sniffed bitterly.

‘And what is she going to do, arrest my family again? On what charges? You are no longer an official traitor. And you’re no longer a traitor by association to your former lord husband.’

Another sob racked through her. He tried to stand but failed.

‘Please’, he begged with outstretched hand. She came closer, but stayed out of reach.

‘Allow me to help. You’ve been a victim to their games for long enough. What control does Lord Baelish hold over you?’

She chewed her lip, twisting her hands in a nervous and subservient manner. Just like she had done at the beginning. Nervous habits. Had they formed during her years of abuse in King’s Landing, or had she always been this way?

‘Lord- Lord Baelish was very kind’, she stammered.

He supressed an audible sigh.

Empty pleasantries.

He wished he’d kept his mouth shut. He wanted the conversation to be over so they could return to being them again.

‘He saved me from King’s Landing. So I wasn’t tried together with Lord Tyrion. And he offered me protection, gave me a place as his daughter. He planned for me to hide until my husband died. And then he’d reveal me and marry me to Ser Harrold Hardyng, who was supposed to take Winterfell back for me. He was the only one who offered to protect me. The only one who knew me. The only one who… could take me home.’

That was a lot to unpack.

‘Did he send assassins after Lord Tyrion?’

‘Not that I know. But he kept me out of many plans.’

‘Then how long, exactly, did he plan to have you wait? What if he was never declared dead?’

She shrugged.

‘And what did Lord Baelish gain out of this?’

A small smile tugged at her lips.

‘Nothing apparently. It’s what made me suspicious of it in the end.’

‘And not the fact that he was the one setting you up with poison in your hair at the wedding in the first place?’

‘Well I only found that out the previous week. No I always wondered what Lord Baelish got out of the plan, and how he would pull it off. And then when you told me about the massacre at Riverrun, combined with a letter I received from him, I got a hunch that he didn’t mean for me to go to Winterfell and live there with Ser Hardyng. I believe he was after me, and wanted to use Ser Hardyng to clean the North for me. I don’t know if he intended for Ser Hardyng to die in battle or through poison, or not at all. But I believe he had one of two things in mind. The first; ruling the North and the Vale through me and Ser Hardyng as some kind of puppet master while he took up his seat in the Riverlands. Or give me the North and the Vale through Har- Ser Hardyng, and then marry me himself. Uniting the North, the Vale and the Riverlands’, she admitted.

‘I fear I would have seen little of my old home, no matter the plan. And it would have come at the price of being indebted to him, or his outright pawn, forever.’

‘Do you still wish to return to Winterfell?’ he asked quietly.

He couldn’t bear look at her.

Couldn’t stomach the idea of her leaving him as well.

He was surprised when she came closer, sinking to the ground in front of him, her hands resting on his legs.

‘It’s difficult. It’s occupied by the Boltons, King Stannis’ army still roams there, and winter is coming. It would take an incredible army to retake it. I don’t wish for thousands of men to die and people to starve and see their homes destroyed in winter. It’ll have to wait until after winter, if it’s ever to happen’, she decided. 

‘Sparing them from another war is all I can do for them at present.’

Coming from the mouth of someone who was even younger than his sister, he was amazed by her wisdom and abnegation.

‘Technically, I don’t even have a claim to the North anymore. To take back the North would be to declare war to the Seven Kingdoms’, she shrugged, her eyes still pointed at the floor.

‘Another problem Littlefinger glossed over.’

He suddenly felt deep compassion for her.

A lady without lands to rule over.

A maiden adrift without friends.

Lied to and used at every twist and turn.

Once not so long ago, he’d sympathized deeply with Alayne Stone’s apparent unwillingness to be a pawn of her ambitious father. He’d seen a kindred spirit in her then. But Sansa Stark was not so different from her, her problems were Alayne’s, but magnified.

‘So you don’t trust Lord Baelish?’

‘As I told you long ago, only a fool would. And I am no fool. At least, not as big a one as I used to’, she smiled joylessly.

‘Sansa.’

She looked up, mouth hanging open at the sound of her name. It was a funny name on his lips, the vowels round on his lips.

‘I offer you to stay. You don’t have to pretend to want to stay for a horse, or to feel useful. You can stay here for as long as you like, even if the only reason you decide to stay is your desire to be safe. My family is kind. We won’t betray you. We can keep you. And whether that’ll be as Alayne Stone or Sansa Stark is up to you. Cersei is no longer queen and you are no longer a traitor. She has no grounds to hurt you.’

‘My name’, she sighed emotionally. ‘But the risks…’

She wasn’t protesting the offer.

‘I won’t sacrifice you because those bloodthirsty wolves desire it. I’m done abiding their ridiculous rules. Leonette is already on her way home. I’ll make a deal with this Aegon, perhaps offer my sister to him. She’ll be a beacon of stability and the people already love her. Perhaps she might enjoy a man more than a child. Or perhaps I won’t offer her at all. We could annul her marriage, it wasn’t consummated anyways. Then she can come home. I’ll have all the Tyrells home where they belong. Father can stay in King's Landing and play his games on his own. But I will keep the others here. I'll protect them and all other innocents on my lands, including –‘

Her lips were already against his.

‘My knight’, she breathed.

He would never fight a battle.

But he had jousted his way through a difficult conversation, and won himself a queen of love and beauty with it. The reward of her embrace felt just as sweet as the felling of an opponent.

They ended up on the couch again, and in less than half an hour, sleep claimed the sleep deprived girl.

Her long hair was fanned out across his chest, her cheek resting on his chest.

He did not find sleep.

But as he watched the sun rise above the glowing hills through his window he did feel peace resettling in his heart.

The remnants of desperation and panic were chased away by sunrays of resolve.

He lived another day and would live many more.

Whether he deserved to live while they had died, he was here, and he would live.

And live to the fullest.

His brothers had sacrificed their lives for the Reach, now it had to flourish. Including him.

The clocks had not stopped ticking. The moon had not died, the stars had not been extinguished.

The world had moved on, and he had to move on with it.

His brothers could not move on, but he would carry them on.

He could do as Sansa said and make heroes of his brothers, then the world would carry them along for generations to come.

A servant came in but he sent them out with the flick of a hand, his other still buried in Sansa’s hair.

That was the second person who had run in on them. And at least the tenth servant who knew about them now. Their secret could not continue for much longer, and then what?

He wouldn’t make a mistress or paramour out of her.

He scrutinized her sleeping face.

Full of innocence.

And so heartbreakingly beautiful. A delicate rounded brow, light freckles dusted across her cheeks and eyelids, long dark eyelashes and a rosebud of a mouth.

Was it even possible to let her go anymore?

Grief was the best opener for some hearts, but he had never understood that until today. The loss had made crystal clear just who else he was afraid to lose, and surprisingly she was amongst them.

He couldn't blame the loneliness and the hole in his chest alone for the sudden revelation. He'd only begun to comprehend a shimmer of his feelings when she'd gotten injured. But tonight had been the rude awakening of a sentiment which had bided its time patiently to make itself fully known. The seed had been planted so long ago, at the start of the fifth month, and had grown steadily since.

She was everything he ever wanted and admired in a woman.

Destiny had tried bringing them together twice. The first attempt had failed, but he’d be damned if he blew his second chance.

He roused her just before midday. Allowing her to redress to be in time for the afternoon service in the sept. And this time, he went as well. The congregation fell silent as he entered, and sat in the area reserved for the Tyrell family on his own. The service was beautiful, he had to admit. But he detached from his ears, forbidding himself to register the words and listen to the songs. He wasn’t sure he could deal with sermons about grief and songs about the Mother and the final days.

He was the Lord Regent of Highgarden, and he would not cry.

The solar was cleaned up by the time he entered it again, and she sat by his side, copying his letter and lifting the burden off of him as she wrote to his father and sister to explain the practicalities he struggled to put to paper. He then added a personal paragraph and off the letters went.

As he wrote to the stonemason for a second grave sculpture, she wrote to an ironsmith and another stonemason with plans for commemorative statues. She proposed that one statue of the brothers was placed atop the city gates. One of Garlan and Loras back to back, their swords pointed towards the incoming people in silent threat. There they would protect the city walls of Highgarden as they had protected the walls of Oldtown. A second one was a large fountain, the bottom of the fountain filled with dead krakens. In the middle of the fountain rose the Hightower, spewing water from the top. The brothers each stood on a side, their swords sheathed in a kraken.

He could have kissed her feet.

He could perfectly envision it.

Perfect, it was perfect.

‘So you have crypts too?’ she asked softly as he finished writing his final letter.

‘It was originally a crypt for the Gardener kings. They lay in the lowest levels. Some of them are underwater now, from the Mander seeping through the walls. But the foundations are still strong. They’re ancient, there are even runes carved in the walls. Since we took over everything from them, we also took their crypts. Decided it was best to take over the old customs.’

‘We have crypts in Winterfell as well’, she admitted. He wiped his thumb across her lip when she bit it again.

‘I apologize. I guess I’m still uneasy talking about… me. I haven’t been me in such a long time.’

‘You can be yourself with me.’

‘I don’t know how to thank you. I have nothing to give you.’

‘You’re giving me something every day. My brothers just died, a queen imprisoned my sister, krakens exist, my grandfather is a sorcerer. It takes more than a lie about a secret identity to get a big reaction out of me. Despite my behaviour yesterday, I do like calling myself reasonable.’

‘I suppose I expected it to be like in the stories. It’s always quite dramatic when an identity is revealed. A lot of shouting and shock and emotion’, she smiled, voice full with self-depreciation.

‘To be honest I didn’t even want to waste time being shocked and having a grave discussion about it. I just wanted to get the lie out of the way and get on with it.’

A laugh slipped out of her mouth, a hand quickly coming up to cover it.

‘You did?’

‘Mhm. I realized I’d admitted I knew who you were and I almost wanted to take back my words. I did not have the strength for a long discussion about it.’

She nodded understandingly. 

‘But I don’t regret the truth is out now. I am glad to hear something real about you.’

A sweet blush crept to her cheeks.

‘So tell me about these crypts.’

‘The lowest level is partially collapsed. But most are still in a perfect state. They aren’t very pretty though. I’d say they were actually quite creepy, of ugly grey stone. Yet me and my siblings sometimes played there as children. Granite pillars on both sides of the walkway uphold the vaulted ceiling, and on both sides of the pillars there are tombs. All members get stone tombs, but only the kings and lords of Winterfell get statues. They’re sitting ones, the lords sitting on chairs in front of their tombs, with their real swords on their lap. Father once told us it was to keep vengeful spirits within the crypts. My brother Robb once made Jon scare us in the crypts. Afterwards I dreamt that I was in the crypts and an evil spirit was indeed after me, and all the lords rose together to fight to monster. A hundred swords going after a single creature.’

A sad smile swept across her face.

‘Father broke tradition when he gave uncle Brandon and aunt Lyanna sculptures. Personally, I thought it was very sweet. Only Artos Stark ever got a sculpture without being lord before that. And now I at least know what my aunt and uncle looks like.’

‘Are they good likenesses?’

‘Most aren’t. The stones are rough. Sometimes, the likeness is just roughly carved in the stone, not even hewn out properly. They must look very primitive to the eye of someone who is used to sculptures from the Reach.’

The image she painted sounded a lot like the lower levels, but not at all like the levels that were presently occupied.

‘Would you like to see ours?’

‘Oh I couldn’t ask.’

‘No, I fear I must check them before…’

He didn’t need to finish. She understood.

The crypts were located underneath the oldest part of Highgarden, where the ceilings were the lowest and the walls yellow with age. The floor had even sunk in some places.

They weren’t far removed from the castle sept. It would be his first funeral procession.

The oaken doors were wide and high.

Even now – or more now then ever if he was being truthful – the trees filled with crows painted on the door succeeded in making him shiver.

He pushed one open. Sansa slipped through with his chair, carrying it down the wide black staircase. He struggled down, clutching the elegant stone handrails for dear life as his leg remained stiff and uncooperative.

The elegant pillars of the railing were a perfect copy of the white pillars keeping up the vaulted ceiling

The large space had statues of the seven in the middle, all standing around a huge vase filled with fresh flowers. The pillars surrounding the Seven who stood in the middle of the room were hollowed out, and within were placed panes of stained glass Candles burned on the inside of the pillars, so that they radiated a stunning myriad of colours.

Willas had always loved the view when he came down here every year to commemorate the dead. Now… Not so much.

‘The door over there has a staircase leading to the deepest level. The two beside it also lead to Gardener crypts’, Willas explained as he rolled towards a nearby door, pointing at the furthest doors.

‘These are nothing like Winterfell’s crypts’, she admitted, putting her hand on one of the glass-in-lead columns.

‘A little help, please?’

She realized he couldn’t get the door open by himself, and rushed to his side.

The stairs were slimmer, but well lit, probably because stone masons were working on the two tombs right now. Willas came out of his chair, and went down agonizingly slow.

There was not enough space to get his chair down. She would have to support him. She skipped down, sliding past him to be there for him by the time he arrived at the bottom.

He gratefully put a hand on her underarm, but it was not enough. He had to throw his arm around her shoulder.

Only once they both stood did she truly look at the crypt.

The tombs stood in tiny oval vaults hewn out in the rock. Each tiny vault separated by small elegant white columns of roses.

Every vault was decorated in another manner, but one thing stood out as they struggled past them.

‘They all have statues.’

‘They do. Everyone deserves to be remembered by name and face, and deeds’, he admitted.

That would be another thing he’d have to do. Write a text describing their lives.

He didn’t look forward to it. Their deeds would look so small compared to the people they were.

He stopped in front of a particularly pretty vault.

One white coffin stood on either side. In front of them stood their respective owners.

‘Leo Longthorn and his wife Alessa’, he explained.

The armour covering the white marble statue had lost its shine with age, but the golden and green patterns were still clear. The figure held his shield proudly. Across him stood his wife, her statue so realistic it could have come alive any moment if it hadn’t been for her lack of colour.

Behind them in the middle, on the jade tiles, hung a painting of the two together.

Sansa stepped forward, taking him with her.

‘This is beautiful’, she muttered, her hand reaching out to trace the inscriptions on the marble tiles, one recounting her life story, the other recounting his.

‘This way someone can never be lost to history, reduced to a name’, she brought out.

Willas nodded.

That’s what made choosing the right words to describe his brothers even more difficult.

It was not far down the line anymore. The unfilled graves weren’t lit, except the first three. Across his grandfather Luthor’s grave stood an empty vault, awaiting his father and his mother. The tiling was already done. The backdrop was Hightower silver, and against the backdrop were emerald and gold mosaics of roses.

His father, being vain, had the statues of him and Lady Alerie made a decade ago, when they were at their most beautiful, according to him. Right now the statues stood to the sides, their gazes staring at the wall as if they were still unwilling to see their final resting place.

A dark untouched vault stood across the second lit vault. The unlit one was his. The other his brother’s.

‘Put me down’, Willas instructed.

‘Are you sure?’

‘Just… please.’

He stretched his leg and sank through his good knee.

He’d had to make the call. His brother didn’t have any wishes or plans for his tomb yet. It had to be finished in a couple of days. Leonette would have no say in the matter.

The weight of the decisions was crippling.

He would have to decide what would be a satisfying tomb design for the both of them. He prayed he got it right. He couldn’t bear it if she visited her future tomb, the tomb where _her_ husband lay, and hated it.

He had less issue with the tomb right beside it. Loras was single. His tomb was for him only. But since he’d only discovered Loras’ death later, he hadn’t yet given the order for the decoration of his tomb. Right now, only the stone tomb was being built.

‘What are you thinking?’

‘Loras’ vault. It needs to be decorated.’

She gracefully sat down beside him.

‘Are you thinking about what it might look like?’

‘No, I’m quite sure about what it has to become. But I just realized I have quite forgotten to order for it to be decorated. I’m thinking grey tiles, with three sapphire blue rose mosaics, since he’s the third son. And the outer edges of the blue roses can be surrounded by a line of gold and a line of black mosaic.’

‘For Lord Renly?’ she asked shyly.

He was so glad she was Sansa Stark. He couldn’t have told a stranger. And a stranger wouldn’t have understood.

‘For Renly. I only wish they could lay together. Perhaps I can lay something of Lord Renly in his coffin’, Willas mused.

‘A piece of his armour?’ Sansa offered.

Willas turned to her in surprise.

‘It’s only that… well. Ser Garlan wore it. So I assumed your family had it.’

‘We do. Garlan had it sent home after the Battle of the Blackwater. Loras couldn’t bear to look at it but he wished to keep it. And Garlan had no more need of it.’

Actually, it sounded perfect. Not that Renly had ever worn his armour much, he was a vain man who skipped around in colourful attire. He was never meant for battle. But Loras had loved Renly in his armour, it had been enough to make his young brother drool when Renly first put it on after marrying Margaery.

A hot tear rolled down his cheek.

‘You… you see, it’s Garlan’s tomb. Leonette can’t have any say in it. By the time she gets here, her tomb will be finished. I hope she won’t hate it.’

‘What have you planned?’

‘A green field, filled with apple trees.’

‘That sounds so lovely though.’

‘Lovely? I doubt she’ll find anything lovely if her husband’s cold dead body is laying on the inside.’

‘Willas, the main focus will be her coat-of-arms, how could she dislike it?’

‘She could prefer Garlan’s.’

‘She’s quite proud of being a Fossoway though. She always embroiders her own coat-of-arms next to your brother’s. As long as the tiles are in the Tyrell colours, she’ll love it. And it looks like that’s happening’, Sansa replied as she waved at the lines of golden and emerald tiles already in place.

‘I quite forgot you met her already.’

‘I met them all’, she answered quietly as she laid her head against his shoulder.

‘Your brothers were wonderful, Willas. They made my life in King’s Landing just a little less miserable for a short time.’

‘Garlan liked you too. He was sorry to see you marry Lord Tyrion. Said Leonette felt robbed of a sister.’

'I never suspected she did’, Sansa stammered.

‘Leonette loves easily… they both did. They were perfect for each other that way. Every way. I’ve never seen a couple so happy and suited to each other. They worked out politically, to strengthen the ties between our family and the Reach… But they were a love match first and foremost.’

Silent tears rolled down his cheeks, his heart bleeding for his brother and his wife, torn apart too soon.

His chest hardened, that odd determination finding him again.

If anything, his brother’s death showed how precious life was.

He was still drawing breath.

He was still living.

He wouldn’t let anyone make choices for him anymore.

Garlan had dedicated his whole adult life to duty, just like Willas, but his private life had been his and he’d filled it with so much love. His marriage had been the source from which he drew strength every day. He could take a page from Garlan’s handbook.

He’d already had half a mind to do so before.

Had he not complained about being his father’s pawn for too long?

‘I have decided.’

She lifted her head from his shoulder.

‘Henceforth I refuse to let anyone decide over my personal life. I won’t let them politicize it anymore. I’ve spent almost two decades doing whatever my family wanted me to do. Learn to be a knight, study, remain single, undergo treatments for my leg that only ended up harming me because they wanted a walking heir – actually the least painful thing would have been to chop it off right above the knee but father didn’t want a Tyrell hobbling about like a pirate – and now I’m dutifully ruling over the Reach. Enough.’

‘Sansa, stand up please.’

‘But. I don’t understand’, she protested as she obeyed.

Willas pushed himself onto his single functional knee.

‘Its hardly the place or time. And it isn’t romantic. But would you consider becoming my wife?’

‘What? I -you… Why would you want that?’ she asked, trying to take a step back.

He took hold of her hands, both of their hands were still ink stained.

Last night alone was plenty of reason to want her by his side forever.

Willas was at least partially comforted by her emphasis on his reasons instead of her own.

‘I have romantic reasons and practical reasons. I wish I only had romantic ones, but I’m an heir. I have to use my rational mind. You are everything I could have ever wanted in a woman. You are gentle and sweet, well read and refined. You have knowledge of politics and you know how to manage a household. It also helps that you’re the maiden incarnate and I’m drawn to you like the most devout of worshippers. I feel like throughout every encounter, I couldn’t help but appreciate you more and more. Practically, you have all the qualities a Lady of the Reach should have. Another practical reason is that, currently, I’m the last Tyrell. I hope Leonette’s child will be born healthy. But I need an heir.’

‘But I’m a foreigner in these lands.’

‘The people already love you. And my family loves you as well. Currently you are no enemy of the crown and technically you have no claim. Let me wrap you in my cloak and protect you. Once upon a time, we discussed how you could become a friend of the Reach in your own right, remember?’

Her blush told him she did.

‘If we’d marry, you wouldn’t be a lone wolf anymore. You would be able to count on the support of one of the most powerful families in the realm. You wouldn’t be a pawn anymore. It’s mutually beneficial. Lord Baelish wants to use you as a pawn, my father wants to use me as a pawn. This is our chance to put their games to an end and decide our own fates. We can prevent being sold to the highest bidder.’

‘But you spoke of changing sides… allying yourself usually requires at least one marriage to solidify it.’

‘I have a whole Tyrell cadet branch, and over thirty noble houses to do so. And besides, there are many ways to support claims and have alliances that don’t involve marriage. Will anyone be able to refuse the partnership of the Reach? They’ll need our armies. They’ll need our grain. Few are in such a good bargaining position as we are.’

Sansa bit her lip again.

‘I want my marriage bed to be mine’, Willas finished.

‘Would you have thought the same had I indeed been Littlefinger’s bastard?’

‘I’d say I’d have an easier time marrying a bastard of Littlefinger than a trueborn daughter of the North. At least politically’, Willas joked.

‘You’re not just doing this for my claim?’

‘What use is the North to me? It was never about the North, Sansa. Even way back. The reason why my father and grandmother wanted me to marry you was in case Robb won. Then we’d be on his side, despite my sister’s marriage to another king. Or so we hoped. I don’t care if I never set foot in it. What we do with the North is up to you. Though I would rather not have another war until after winter.’

Perhaps there was a better place than inside the dark family crypts, but he could already feel his brother smiling down on him when he kissed his bride.

Finally the lone rose wasn’t alone anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know many of you thought Sansa should have told him. 
> 
> I know virtually everybody was anticipating a big reveal. But I'm really not one for big dramatic reveals. Sansa definitely had an internal meltdown when she discovered he found out. But Willas had been through it the past month, he's burned out, except for the lie, what was there to get angry about? And he already knew she was Baelish' pawn. He already absolved her of the guilt some chapters ago after her accident. So I had my lovely fools who are bad at lying and bad at pretending stumble through an accidental confession of the secret because they're sleep deprived messes.


	19. The funeral

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loras and Garlan are burried.

_**Sansa POV** _

Over the walls of Highgarden hung long black banners. Inside the mighty palace, all tapestries were covered with sheets of black.

The city was mourning the loss of the two youngest Tyrell boys, Sansa heard as she walked through the streets.

The map of Westeros stood blank in the solar of the Lord of Highgarden. Pawns, some broken and some whole, lay in the drawers underneath it, still partially stained with ink.

The Lord Regent did not care for Westerosi politics at present.

He did not even want to discuss it as they sat beside each other in his solar, continuing the winter and funeral preparations. She kept to herself for the largest part, instead doing some needlework.

Clouds gathered, and the septons saw in it divine proof that the Seven Faced God wept with them.

Of course, it was easy to explain the victory, since the Reach held the most devout worshippers and bravest knights it was only evident that they would win. It was harder to come up with explanations for the magic that had shocked the dusty old maesters and septons awake. News about flying sphinxes of stone, krakens from the deep, a magical booming voice and a godlike king turning into a Deep One spread like wildfire, so there was no use in silencing it. But an explanation could be found, and was given to the people mourning in the septs.

Magic was dark and dangerous, and the gods punished those who wielded it. The krakens had died and the stone sphinxes had taken up their usual residence again. The only good reason to wield magic was to wage war against darker magic. The old Lord Leyton Hightower was fighting for his life, a victim of the stab wounds Euron Greyjoy had delivered, but the septons whispered he had only been hurt because the Seven Faced God was angry he had wielded magic.

The story of the burning of the Sept of Oldtown wherein all those who hid within its walls burned to death spread as well. Repairs were being done, but the sept was as much as a tomb now as it had been the minutes after the battle. Three coffins stood in the front, one with body, two without.

An empty coffin with a picture of Ser Baelon Hightower, gone down with his ship.

A picture of Ser Humfrey Hightower, gone down with his ship.

And the body of Ser Gunthor Hightower, who had lead the charge within the city.

Three of Lord Leyton’s four sons were dead.

The septon of Highgarden prayed for them as well during the service. Sansa sang along with the hymns. They were no Tyrells, but they were family her betrothed all the same. Willas, out of practical considerations that included not feeling like praying and struggling to get to his place in the sept through the narrow walkways, did not attend.

Being alone helped her to hear the gossip better. But she was not as insignificant anymore, now when people noticed her, they stopped whispering. Without any news leaking, it was like they knew something had changed between her and Lord Willas all the same. So she kept her head down and her clothes black, and tried to blend into the background as much as she could. And kept her ears open.

A shift had happened in Highgarden, the voices went.

All the servants were whispering, but none understood how the change had come to be.

Some whispered of magic, since their lord regent appeared to have changed very suddenly.

The soft broken rose had hardened, growing a thousand thorns overnight, they said.

And there was no way anyone could doubt that.

The day after news of the deaths of Garlan and Loras, all roses in Highgarden were painted black.

And all dying summer and autumn flowers were replaced the following day. Now the flower perches were filled with snowflakes, Northern primroses, violas, winter roses, snowdrops, blue scilla and heather. A clear sign of winter, but also a clear sign that Highgarden was determined to keep on growing strong, flourishing and blooming throughout winter.

Willas even made a public speech addressing the death of both his brothers, and announced that from now on the Reach would harden itself for winter, in all meanings of the word. The speech was short and powerful, and not at all the lengthy monologue expected from him.

In the same speech he ordered a competition for the musicians, promising gold to the makers of the most beautiful songs about his brothers.

The servants barely recognized their lord, hard of face and black of dress. He did not leave his rolling chair the days following the bad news, but never before had he looked so strong and powerful according to them. Sansa beamed with pride when she heard that as she stood between them, next to Amaryllis.

Sansa could not say whether it was the strongest he’d ever looked, she’d only known him for a little while. But she did recognize that as broken as he was on the inside, so strong did he look when he left his rooms.

The night of the music competition she was amazed by his outward calm as they moved towards the banquet hall. In private she’d suggested songs were the best way to keep someone’s memory alive. He’d agreed, since music and songs were a point of pride in the Reach, as they called themselves the most culturally strong and influential region of the Seven Kingdoms.

Nerves threatened to swallow her whole that night, for Willas had decided that for his sanity, and as a way to announce his wedding, she was to sit next to him during the competition. She was equally dressed entirely in black. Even her wedding dress would have black trimmings. But that was fine, black had never clashed with white.

She could feel everyone’s eyes on her as she pushed her lord forward in his black chair on wheels. He stood only to ascend to his table, taking place in the front of the hall. She expected gossip to arise, and people to look mad and confused. But she was the confused one, when she only heard a couple of muttering voices and saw smirks instead of frowns, and purses being exchanged.

The servants understood her presence. They were all confident they had seen something on Solstice Night. And afterwards she had continued to bless Highgarden by making the indoor gardens thrive. It was easy to understand why the heir to Highgarden would keep such a beautiful, industrious, talented and kind maiden by his side. Amaryllis and Willas had told her about the rumours, but she was only now seeing how completely fine they were with her presence.

Willas raised his hands, and all whispering ended.

‘Thank you all for enjoying tonight’s competition with me. I hope we may find songs worthy of my brothers’ heroism. We may not forget our heroes, those who have bled to keep our lands safe. The first contestant may step forward’, Lord Willas curtly announced.

So the singers presented their songs, each one more tear-inducing or awe inspiring than the last.

A lot of applause went out to A Final Rose for the Knight of Flowers.

Sansa held her lord’s hand strongly as he watched on, eyes moved but face impassive.

Singers came and went, but it was only the tenth song that some saw elicit strong emotions from Lord Willas.

_“They were summoned from Highgarden  
Drawn away from life  
Now the castle’s knightless  
And crying does Garlan’s wife_

_They were young, our pride and glory  
Destined for fame and song  
There was never a battle they had not won_

_Two roses lay, on the golden cob’stones amidst their slain  
No enemy left to tell the tale  
One lead the vanguard, Garlan the Gallant, protector of the port  
Tirelessly he fought_

_Loras, Knight of Flowers, his bloom plucked too soon  
He arrived at daybreak, and was dead before noon”_

The song continued for three more verses and four more refrains but it had already reached its desired effect.

More songs flew by.

_“Well Garlan Gallant hacked his sword  
He’d give a grunt and he’d give a groan with every swing  
The pirate folk for miles around heard him and fell down  
Warrior what a swordsman just listen to that cold steel ring.  
But the bad pirate came up laughing at Garlan Gallant,  
Said young ser I’m full of magic now  
An unfair fight is easily won  
But guess who lost in the end?”_

“Promise me, when you see  
A golden rose you'll think of me  
I love you so never let go  
I will be your ghost of a rose”

But after many a penniless minstrel passed the revenue, came along the court singer, with a long scroll filled with rhyme, dressed in golden and green and seemingly ready to take his coin.

_“ The king our enemy Euron Crowseye,_

_Has pestered us for four moons neigh_

_From shore to sea has he won the land_

_A city there wasn’t that might his army withstand;_

_Keep and castle alike went down_

_Save Oldtown, the ivory town._

_The Lord Leyton holds the place,_

_Who loves the Seven, not seeks His own grace_

_He prays to the Warrior, and serves his town;_

_And this saved him from the ironborn who planned to raid his town._

_In front of Oldtown King Euron made_

_His council sit in the longships he made,_

_A sea of azure turned red_

_A pagan sacrifice_

_While there stood, the king before,_

_Five-and-ten thousand men and more._

_Thus to his reavers and raiders he said,_

_‘Hear ye, my pirates, we’ll be bested._

_The Lord of gentle Higharden_

_Has send his brothers for our dire mischance._

_We cannot meet Gallant Garlan or Brave Baelor in battle line,_

_No mangiven power to shatter his power, is mine._

_Speak, my sages; your counsel lend:_

_My doom of shame and death forefend."_

The song was long and well-constructed, narrating in detail all that the singer knew had passed, from Euron’s trickery to the eventual fall of the chains and the flight of the sphinxes. He recounted Loras’ arrival as the hero that had come in and saved the city from the brink and died valiantly fighting ten men at once.

And although he had no way of knowing, he had guessed correctly that one brother died in the other’s arms. Only in his song it was Loras who died in his older brother’s arms, and the loss inspired Garlan to lead his men into victory. And immortalized in song, it was this version that went down in history.

Surprising all the Lord of Highgarden did not consult, as he always did, a panel of friends or lords, and instead simply chose the seven of his own accord.

‘And a second reward will soon come to you. All seven of you are invited to sing at my wedding. Three days after my brothers are buried.’

No further explanation was given. The statement was so powerful and shocking all remained silent until their lord was pushed out of the hall.

Older women were angry that he would celebrate so soon after his brothers died, while still in mourning, while men said his marriage showed just how much he was in need of comforting.

Lesser lords and ladies growled that he could have his pick from all eligible young maidens in the Reach of real breeding.

Voices of reason pointed out that those ladies were far removed, except for the few present in Highgarden who had not managed to catch his eye in a decade. They argued that Mace Tyrell had no spares left, and only a single direct heir. The line of succession was threatened, and it was entirely reasonable and practical for Lord Willas to marry as soon as possible with the first eligible lady around, and Alayne was both a clever political choice and a skilled woman in her own right who had managed to endear herself to Lord Willas.

No name was announced for the bride, but all knew who it was. Or so they thought.

Sansa pushed Willas into the library and sat down in front of the fire on what had now become their couch.

They sat there, drinking mulled wine and looking into the fire for the longest time. She’d tried playing the harp the previous evening, but it had reminded him too much of Leonette, which made him feel sorry for Leonette and reminded him that Garlan would never be able to spend the night like that anymore.

It still struck her as strange how two people who were so good with words as they were, could go wordless for so long.

Perhaps because she had only now learned to communicate through touch. Words weren’t as necessary anymore.

She could interpret the way he clenched his hands. Lay a hand on his shoulder, lean her head against his, rake her fingers through his hair.

He laid a trembling hand on her leg.

Pressed her close to his chest.

Massaged her shoulders when he didn’t want her to see his silent tears, though she knew, she could almost sense it.

He buried his face in her neck.

His breath was uneven.

He was still fighting his grief.

She doubted it had been good for him to listen to songs reminding him of the fact that his brothers were dead for hours on end, but she had understood his sense of urgency once she’d suggested it.

Strike the iron while it’s hot. Now the songs had been made and sung, heard by many. And at their wedding they would be sung again, and would spread throughout the realm from then on.

His held her hand in a vicelike grip.

She turned towards him, burying her nose in his neck.

Her free hand softly brushed across his back.

‘We need to read the letters’, he sighed after a while, the tenseness slowly slipping from his shoulders.

‘We don’t have to. It’s been a long hard day. You have been so strong, go easy on yourself before bedtime.’

‘I’ve been easy on myself for two days.’

That was a debatable statement, he had been working hard within Highgarden, preparing the funeral and secretly preparing the wedding. She did feel bad for keeping everything hush, it wasn’t fair, particularly to his family.

She had come out of the crypt the betrothed of Lord Willas. But he had come out of the crypt changed as well, no longer his father’s son but a ruler in his own right. However, the ruler had decided, for his sanity, to neglect the larger politics for a while. She thought that was a wise decision, and remembered how she hadn’t cared about politics either right after her father and brothers died.

‘If you are certain.’

‘I am. I’m certain about everything.’

Sansa withdrew from his neck.

‘That’s not a wise statement coming from the mouth of a lord’, she smiled.

A smile tugged at his lips.

‘Well, I never claimed it was a wise statement. But it’s a true statement. I doubt before I make decisions, not after. Have I not made good decisions lately?’ he enquired, raising his eyebrows in jest.

Sadness still haunted his features, but he was doing his best to smile.

‘I believe I’m a bit biased. They were most profitable to me, so at present I like them. But whether they were good decisions remains to be seen.’

‘When will you know?’

‘Once I’ve seen the outcome, my lord’, she smiled before pressing his lips.

‘Take the letters and let’s see whether my decision was a good one.’

She found politics quite hard, both Willas and Littlefinger made plans for scenarios that had yet to begin unfolding. It was all speculative. They were betting on dices that were still rolling.

She disentangled herself from him and walked over to the pile of messages that had come in.

She sifted through them, and was shocked by one addressed at her between the stack.

‘Littlefinger’, she murmured, sinking down beside him.

Willas laid an encouraging hand on her knee.

‘Do you always read my letters?’

‘You know I do. As you said, only a fool trusts Lord Baelish.’

She surmised that was fair, and opened the letter.

_“Dear daughter,_

_I am happy and surprised by your news, since I heard Lady Alerie has not been home in nearly three moonturns while you are still at Highgarden. You must have done well in those few weeks you served her. You are so like me, very ambitious, always trying to climb that ladder. How well you do for yourself, you surprise me.”_

‘He knows I lied.’

Sansa worried her lip. His words were sweet but she could feel their sting. He was shocked she’d dared to act without him. And he knew someone else had kept her on as it couldn’t have been Lady Alerie.

‘And?’

_“I did wish your return, I had such lovely plans for you, my sweet daughter. It is unfortunate that we cannot fulfil them now. You were no burden at all, and the tourney incident would never have been repeated. I received news from another lord in the Vale, saying the one who was most outspoken against your presence was caught._

_Nevertheless I hope you will make good use of yourself while in Highgarden. In the meantime I’ll take it upon myself to update you on the Vale. I take it you didn’t know Myranda Royce married Ser Harrold. Not that she had a lot of time to enjoy her new young husband, as he was off to Riverrun within a week. Lord Edmure has again occupied the castle. I do wonder if he’ll be able to keep it this time. I doubt it. Well, as Lord of the Reach, I won’t recognise him as the keep’s lawful holder.”_

She read the letter aloud.

‘Anything more?’

‘No, just his name and positions’, Sansa replied.

The letter was a lot colder, no new information was divulged, except for the marriage. And that was written just to hurt her. Everything was written to hurt her.

He told her she’d ruined his plans for her. He told her Ser Shadrich was dead so she could have returned safely. His plan to marry her to Harrold was foiled, just like she’d predicted. And then he ended his letter by saying he wouldn’t help her family.

The weight of her decision hit her again. She wouldn’t get Winterfell back.

No, she couldn’t think like that. Judging by Littlefinger’s writing they had been married for over a week by the time he wrote. With some quick calculations she estimated that they had married the day she’d written her letter announcing her prolonged stay at Highgarden.

She never would have made it back in time.

‘Are you alright?’

‘I admit I fear what he’ll do’, Sansa whispered.

‘Let him try to go against Highgarden. He might be the regent of the Vale and the Lord of the Riverlands, he doesn’t belong in any of the two, and his influence over King’s Landing is weak now that he’s so far removed without a position on the small council. My sister is queen, my father hand. Let him do his worst.’

‘He’s always profited off of people looking over him and underestimating him. He made Aunt Lysa kill her own husband, he keeps my nephew weak by allowing him too much milk of the poppy, he almost succeeded in killing Lord Tyrion and he did kill my aunt.’

It still felt weird being honest about it to herself. She’d known these things for so long, but had always pushed them back, never allowing herself to dwell on it. She wouldn’t have survived the Vale otherwise, knowing her sole friend was probably the most dangerous and ruthless man alive. And weirder still did it feel to trust another with those secrets she had kept so well.

‘All of those things separately are enough to execute him’, Willas decided.

‘What witnesses? He bribes everyone.’

‘He can’t bribe you. You are an eyewitness to three of the crimes you gave.’

She was.

She gasped.

Littlefinger had trusted her with little, but even the little she knew was enough to sentence him to death five times over.

‘Now for my news’, Willas sighed.

Willas read all the signatures on the letters, and put the letters of his family behind all others. She understood why, they would contain the heaviest words.

The first one he opened was a letter decorated with an orange sun.

Arianne Martell. The letter had only come in today.

‘Bless the Seven’, Willas breathed.

‘What?’

‘Arianne writes that Storm’s End has fallen and that she was received there by Jon Connington and Aegon Targaryen the day after. She writes that he appears legitimate and is in search of support. Dorne will support him, and they will give him Princess Myrcella as a hostage to use against the Lannisters. Those who support him will be get rewarded, but he does not actively seek to ruin the houses who don’t support him. He wants to be a diplomatic king. This… this is all I could have hoped for.’

Sansa took his hand.

A second war of Five Kings.

First there had been Joffrey, Renly, Stannis, her brother and later on Balon Greyjoy.

Now Tommen was on the Iron Throne, Euron Greyjoy had tried to become a god-king, Aegon Targaryen had returned, King Stannis was still around somewhere and they spoke of a Targaryen dragonqueen across the Narrow Sea. She hoped these kings wouldn’t cause as much bloodshed.

She didn’t know how Storm’s End had fallen, and so fast, but that didn’t matter.

‘I need to write to her. And Mathis Rowan. We need to get on their side.’

‘Isn’t that dangerous? All of your family is still in King’s Landing. Lord Mace –‘

‘He conquered all of the Stormlands in less than two moons. He has the Stormlands and soon the entire army of Dorne, they haven’t lost a single soldier in a decade. That’s already a powerful force. I don’t know how much remains of our army, but what if only half remains? The Dornish will march through our part of the Dornish Marches and a part of the Reach near the Crown Lands. King’s Landing will expect us to stop them. That might cost us our entire army. I’m not going to do that. That will make us very weak, and we’re weakened already. Secondly, at this pace, he currently holds the largest fleet in Westeros since he has the Golden Company behind him. If he sails for King’s Landing, King’s Landing could fall. Most of their forces and the Western forces are still in the Riverlands. Which means that King’s Landing will ask us to send our men to defend the city. In the worst case we need to send all our men, and leave our lands to be attacked by an army again. In a slightly less bad case we’re expected to split our forces between the Reach and King’s Landing. But in any case, King’s Landing is weak, and we are weakened. The Riverlands are depleted and never mind the North, Northern forces will never get to King’s Landing on time.’

‘Oh gods.’

‘Yes, King’s Landing is quite doomed. Either my father accepts that I offer support to this Aegon or he gets killed when the Targaryen boy sacks King’s Landing. Let’s hope he’s smart enough to see it. He has a penchant for ignoring everyone’s advice. My whole life my grandmother advised him to do thus or so, and my father always tutted and ignored her, and then came up with his own plans. Sometimes they were as she suggested, sometimes they weren’t, but he was too proud to just accept advice. He had to come to those decisions on his own terms. Well, now he doesn’t get a choice.’

‘His parents certainly knew what they were doing when they named him Aegon’, Sansa muttered.

He could not have picked a better time to conquer Westeros like his namesake.

Willas wrote the letters and Sansa brought them to the Rookery.

By the time she returned the great lord had fallen victim to misery again.

He had opened his family’s letters in her absence.  
She was half insulted he had wanted to deal with them alone. But then she remembered she had isolated herself as well. Granted, she had been forbidden from mourning in King’s Landing and she did not have anyone around she could trust with her feelings. Willas had the same natural tendencies, wanting to appear strong in front of others, but being deeply feeling.

She sank to her knees in front of him, hands holding his ever growing beard, she could barely see his skin through it anymore. But no matter how much his beard grew, he did not look any more like Garlan. And no matter how long his hair grew, it would never curl like Loras’. Nothing could revive the two brothers, or keep their image alive in this new dark winter world.

‘Megga has written Margaery’s letter. She was unable to write. Says she hasn’t stopped crying since she heard.’

Sansa rose and carefully sat down on his lap, putting her arms around him.

‘Father writes that the leadership responsible for Oldtown’s defences was lacking. He doesn’t believe anything about the magic and says that all odds were in their favour. He blames grandfather and the Hightower uncles for Loras and Garlan’s loss. The fool’, Willas cursed, his fingers digging into Sansa’s back.

His voice still cracked when he made his next announcement.

‘Mother is inconsolable. And since all boats have been taken, she won’t get here in time for the funeral. She grieves beyond grief, cries to fill seas.’

He buried his face in Sansa’s hair, her scent always managing to calm him at least a little.

‘I got word that grandmother was already on her way home from the last castle she was at and as such won’t get my letter.’

Sansa wondered whether that would mean Olenna would get to Highgarden before the funeral and the wedding. She would without a doubt recognize Sansa, but would she allow the wedding to go through? Would she be able to influence Willas to make other decisions politically?

‘You said we were to be wed three days after the funeral. Is the funeral to be had immediately when the silent sisters arrive?’

‘They should arrive tomorrow. By that time they… they will be… Oh bugger; They’ll have been dead for four days. I believe the silent sisters have prepared them for a wake. They’ll get one, and it’ll give the builders some more time to finish their graves. Perhaps three days.’

Six days to marry.

‘I’ll have to work hard with the dressmakers for my dress. I’ll even need help for my cloak. The secret will leak before the wedding.’

‘Can it not be done in simple fashion?’

Sansa had to resist rolling her eyes. Maiden cloaks were treasures. Expensive gems decorated with pearls and lace and gold and silver thread. They were supposed to be heirlooms. They weren’t random cloaks with coat-of-arms sewn on them.

But she swallowed her sarcasm. He had witnessed weddings and maiden cloaks himself. He probably suggested a simpler one because the circumstances were different. Under normal circumstances Willas was in no position to make decisions like he did, they weren’t supposed to marry, a second brother wasn’t meant to inherit the throne and knights weren’t supposed to be knighted on the battlefield. Many things were different nowadays.

‘It will be simple, even _if_ I ask other ladies to help out. But it could be a subtle way to leak the news. It’s in five to six days, it still won’t reach anyone in time to prevent the wedding from happening. And it might soften the blow once my identity is revealed.

‘I understand.’

But as soon as she had his blessing to enlist help, a new topic was brought to the table.

‘Do you have anything scheduled tomorrow?’

‘Just working on my gown and cloak.’

‘Would you take the time to go down to the docks with me?’

‘The docks? But my lord, that’s all the way down to the Mander.’

And he was still in his chair.

‘I can’t stay in when my brothers arrive.’

‘The roads are paved until the bottom layer of Highgarden’, she merely said.

His chair would not get to the docks by the dirt roads. They had turned into deep mud through the perpetual rainfall. He would either have to walk, go by horse, or be carried.

‘I’ll take my horse.’

‘It’s not right that I can’t lead the procession by foot. I ought, by all means. It’s how things are done.’

‘These people know you, they know your struggles. They have seen how much effort you have put into giving your brothers a worthy funeral. They won’t blame you for riding instead of walking ahead of the procession to the sept.’

He clenched his hands.

It reminded Sansa of the small gift she had made, which felt a lot heavier in the pocket of her dress now that she thought of it.

She doubted whether the gift would be welcome, it could come across a bit rude. And she really didn’t wish to insult him.

But he looked like he wanted to throw something again.

‘I have something for you, Lord Willas.’

Lord.

She cringed. She’d tried not calling him lord as much as she did before, but it felt quite strange to call him Willas as well. Lately, she’d been avoiding the problem by simply not calling him anything as much as possible. She hoped she would grow more used to calling him by his name after their marriage.

Marriage, she still wasn’t used to the idea either. She would be betrothed for less than a fortnight, and would wed without any family members present. Was she to never have a traditional marriage where she had time to be excited for her wedding and be given away by a male family member and have a day of merrymaking? Apparently not.

But it was a definite improvement compared to her previous wedding. She had actually been asked and had agreed to marry this time around. She felt safe with Willas. She cared for Willas. She liked Willas in every way. The thought of consummating the marriage was still scary, but at least it wasn’t horrifying.

‘What is it?’

She gave him a small smile as she dropped the ball in his hands.

His eyebrows knit together as he weighed the ball.

‘Is it filled with something?’

‘Rice. I stitched three layers of fabric around it with very tight stitches so it wouldn’t leak.’

He let out a low chuckle.

‘So this is what you’ve been doing as you sat beside me while I worked?’

He looked up, and apparently saw the shame she felt.

‘No no, it’s not bad. I’m just confused. What am I to do with a ball?’

‘Well… I just thought… I know you often feel frustrated.’

He let out a hard breathy chuckle.

He’d put two and two together.

‘A throw ball. To throw instead of innocent object. Ha!’

He laughed in earnest now.

Relief flooded her system.

‘Oh what a brute I’ve been. Smashing my furniture and destroying everything I get my hands on. Thought I’d gotten a grip on my temper the last decade.’

He threw the ball and caught it again.

‘Yes. Very reasonable’, he threw her a self-depreciating smile.

‘I apologize, my lady, I’ve been everything but on my good behaviour around you. I usually manage myself better than this. It’s a sad thing it’s you who had to see me this way, down to basest nature.’

If the past months had been him on his worst behaviour, she really wanted to see him on his best. Without stress plaguing him day through night, and grief wrecking his mental health. In time, perhaps. Although he would never be the same again. She wasn’t either. A part of her wished she could have been the whole loving hopeful innocent maiden she had once been for him. Sansa still carried a part of that girl with her, but she would never go back to being her. But perhaps she wouldn’t have fit him then, unknowledge about politics, unfamiliar with the stress and grief he suffered and unequipped to deal with it. And perhaps she wouldn’t have appreciated him as she did now. As a child she had definitely never desired such a serious studious ruler. She had dreamt of fair courteous smiling fair knights. Young Sansa would have thought a husband who wasn’t able to dance with her the end of the world.

They had fractured into pieces that fit together perfectly.

‘Sometimes we don’t act like ourselves. I was so careful I was so careful and meek in King’s Landing, yet when Joffrey forced me to look at my father’s head… I almost pushed him off the wall. One night, when he taunted me about giving me my brother’s head, I told him perhaps Robb could give me his. On my wedding day, despite that Lord Tyrion had been kind to me, I was so distraught and angry with the Lannisters for forcing me to marry without even warning me, I refused to bend so that Tyrion couldn’t put on the Lannister cloak. And that night when he told me he would spare me until… I came to his bed willingly, I asked him what he’d do if I never wanted to. Normally I would never be that ruthless.’

Willas snorted.

‘Indeed, I remember well how meek and overly polite you were when you first arrived. Back then I believed it was because you had been raised as a peasant. Knowing you are Sansa Stark makes it even more astonishing. They made a highborn lady talk like a servant afraid of being fired for placing one foot wrong.’

‘I met you during the whelping of a dog and walked out on you when we went stargazing.’

She had been nowhere near as careful as she’d been in King’s Landing. There, she’d worn an armour of curtesy, her she’d only ever worn a breast plate.

‘Yes, but you were polite both times. Just not as professional because you didn’t believe me to be anyone of significance. And I believe you walking out on me was one of those examples of people acting unusually when experiencing strong emotions.’

Sansa nodded. She’d been furious. Willas hadn’t even said one angry word in regards to her much longer and much more elaborate identity lie. She felt deeply ashamed of her hypocrisy. She’d taken out all her anger and frustration for all the lying she’d endured on him.

Sansa laid down, her head on his lap as she stared at the dancing flames.

‘Your hair looks even more red today’, he noticed.

‘I almost had a heart attack on Solstice Day when they revealed they used lightening shampoo on my hair. But now I don’t fear it. I’m curious whether my hair will turn my natural colour again if I continue.’

‘I’m curious too. I’d like to see it.’

She looked up, finding him smiling as he played with her hair.

But his eyes were growing more distant every second, and his smile was fading.

His hand stilled in her hair.

‘Will you see my brothers with me?’

‘My l- Willas, we aren’t married yet. I couldn’t possibly ride to the docks with you. And I really can’t lead the procession. It’s – ‘

‘I wasn’t talking about that. I meant after, once… you know… they’ve been laid out in the sept.’

‘Oh. I- I never…’

Not a single member of her family had ever gotten a proper burial, and if they had, she still would have been too far away to see it. She’d seen people die, but had never seen a body. Only her father’s head once, from a distance.

‘I only ever saw a distant uncle when I was little. I haven’t either.’

Would she have wanted someone beside her if she’d been able to look at her family? She would have.

‘You don’t have to. I would understand if you didn’t want to. But they’re my brothers… I feel I must. For them. For me.’

She doubted it would be pleasant, but it could be nowhere near as bad for her as it would be for him.

She sat up and pressed a kiss against his lips.

‘I’ll come with you.’

It felt so easy now, with all confusion and secrets out of the way, to communicate with him.

He did not say thanks, but she got the message all the same.

‘Those are a lot of ships’, Amaryllis muttered.

‘No doubt many men will be relieved to get their borrowed ships back’, Sansa replied.

‘Yes, they must be relieved to finally have their source of income back’, Amaryllis agreed.

‘I hadn’t thought of it that way yet,’ Sansa admitted, ‘but I suppose you’re right.’

‘You think in terms of personal possession. I think in terms of sustenance. Perhaps the difference in how we’ve been raised is finally showing.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Well you grew up with your father probably owning multiple ships, lands, horses and carriages. To him a couple of horses or ships temporarily loaned would be an inconvenience because it’s his property. But to a simple fisherman it isn’t just a ship that’s gone, it’s almost all his money and his source of income.’

They were standing on the top wall of Highgarden, overlooking the Mander.

There was no rain today, but there was a strong wind tugging at their heavy skirts and almost blowing them over the walls.

A large convoy was nearing the harbour, the first ships already docking. Merchant vessels, carracks, pleasure barges, galleys and fishing boats, more of them appearing on the horizon as time went by.

The ships in front, the three ships Ser Loras had apparently taken with him on his way to Oldtown, had white sails with squares of grey on them.

Sansa tugged her cloak closer around her.

‘I did not know a lot about the world. I feel I learned a lot about politics in King’s Landing, but only started understanding the worries and problems of those of low birth in the Vale. I have a lot to learn still.’

‘That’s why you’ll be my favourite Lady of Highgarden ever. Just the fact that you want to learn how to see things from our perspective’, Amaryllis smiled.

Somewhere down there, Willas was watching the coffins of his brothers being unloaded.

‘But will I be the favourite lady of the others? Do you think the people will hate me for lying about…’

‘Well, they believe you’re one of them. So they would feel hurt. And you did live a lie, so they’ll mistrust you. And it will look as if Willas was in on it, so they’ll feel fooled.’

‘Thought so. All credit I had will be lost.’

‘Make a speech on your wedding day. Thank them for welcoming you so warmly as they did, spin a pretty sob story about why you hid your identity. If you compliment them and offer honesty they will feel valued. And if you show you are the same good person they know, many will forgive you. I did.’

‘I do apologize for the lengthy lie.’

‘It’s in the past now. Naught to be done about it.’

Sansa almost envied the simple way in which she waved the past goodbye.

‘Talking of the past, there’s no need of us to waste the present watching a procession. We have a lot of stuff to be done for important events in the future.’

Sansa felt she couldn’t tell Amaryllis why she wanted to watch the procession. Wanted to see coffins being returned to their ancestral home. Her family had never been brought back. She never had someone returning to her. But perhaps Amaryllis was right, there was a lot of work to be done, and the only reason she wanted to watch was so she’d be able to pretend for a short while that she was on the walls of Winterfell, watching her family return as they were supposed to.

After Willas had given her permission the evening before, she’d enlisted the other top seven participants who weren’t noble ladies.

The three of them and the personal dressmaker of Lady Alerie and Margaery were now gathered in Lady Alerie’s drawing room.

‘I wish to thank you all for taking the time to help me prepare my wedding dress. I wish the circumstances could be more joyful, alas fate decided otherwise. Before we start working on my dress, I do feel the need to clarify some things’, she started.

Her eyes fled towards Amaryllis, who nodded encouragingly.

‘First of all, I want you to know I did not take advantage of Lord Willas’ grief. He proposed because he feared news would leak about our relationship and he did not wish for it to tarnish my name, and secondly he felt it was his responsibility to start trying to produce an heir as soon as possible.’

‘Honey, we know this. Or well, we suspected’, the grey haired dressmaker smiled comfortingly.

‘Second, as I feel I can no longer hide it since my maiden cloak has to be made… I umm.’

She couldn’t do it. All eyes were on her, most of their eyes so gentle and encouraging.

‘I’m sorry.’

She couldn’t. She couldn’t say something bad. She’d hidden every ugly part of herself for years, she didn’t know how to speak the truth anymore unless she truly trusted someone.

Petyr Baelish had instilled upon her to never speak of it.

She held her back straight, she’d always managed to keep composure. But she felt terribly ashamed she could keep composure but not be earnest.

She shook her head.

‘I apologize, ladies, I don’t even know how to start.’

Amaryllis rushed over to her side, throwing a protective arm around her.

‘She still has difficulty speaking about it. We know she was raised by Petyr Baelish, but the truth is he only raised her for a couple of months. Because he abducted her. She was forced to live with him, with probably the most ruthless man in all of the Seven Kingdoms. Not that he kidnapped her from any place better. He spirited her away from King’s Landing where her fiancé beat her, forced her to watch her real father’s dead head on a spike, married her to the Imp, and she had to hear how her entire family was slaughtered leagues away.’

She could see it in their eyes when they realized who she was. Some were shocked, some confused. And in some, she saw a glimmer of suspicion.

Amaryllis portrayed Littlefinger in a most uncharming manner, but she technically didn’t lie.

‘She came here because Petyr Baelish wanted her to spy on us. But she resisted, didn’t tell him anything. And only now, after three months of being here, did she dare to tell the truth to me. But she didn’t even dare to tell our lord Willas. No, instead she begged Lord Willas to give her a job without telling him her real name. This girl was ready to hide her identity for the rest of her life and live a servant life just to be free of Lord Baelish and all the people out to get her. That’s how scared she was of Petyr Baelish. But unfortunately she had an accident, and Lord Willas heard of an old injury Sansa had sustained when her own fiancé had her beaten in front of the entire court. He was apparently already suspicious, but in that moment discovered who she was.’

‘Oh my.’

‘Gods.’

‘Always said they were mad down there’, breathed another.

She couldn’t believe it. She actually saw sympathy in their eyes.

‘So that’s, oh it was some animal right? For on your cloak?’

‘A direwolf’, Sansa stammered.

‘I really apologize for lying. You were all so kind to me, I felt like a monster for lying.’

‘People lie all the time dear, we work in a castle, we _know_. Sounds like you had a lot to run from and a lot to fear’, said the dressmaker.

‘No wonder you won the competition’, said the servant girl with a decided aha-air.

‘So you’re telling me that all that kissing going on during the Summer Solstice – well, End of Autumn Party more like – was while our lord still thought you were a bastard girl?’

Sansa nodded.

‘Oh he really is a gem, isn’t he? A true Duncan Targaryen. He really cares for all of us.’

‘No doubt he would be happy to hear that. He spends whole days worrying about how to keep all his people alive and well through winter.’

‘Well you can tell him if you want that almost everyone I hear has been very happy by his recent decisions. He’s been delivering good work the past couple of months. We’re really feeling the benefits of his decision, or can see that his decisions will benefit us.’

‘Are you behind it?’ asked the servant girl who’d gotten the impossible history question during the Maiden Contest. ‘Some said you were guiding his decisions after seeing how close you were during the solstice and how you got top positions afterwards.’

‘I might have told him how the North and the Vale prepared for winter. But he was the one making all decisions’, Sansa admitted modestly.

She couldn’t believe how instantly trusting they were. It appeared as if her secret had bonded them, and now they indeed felt closer to her. She hadn’t expected their curiosity, but was glad to supply some information to make up for her lies and silence.

And they already treated her as a contact point to pass information to Willas.

She was certain she’d wake up in the Eyrie tomorrow, and it would have all been some fever dream. And then Littlefinger would be at her bedside telling her she’d fallen down a staircase after meeting Ser Shadrich.

‘We can tatter while working too!’ decided the dressmaker.

‘My lady, don’t worry about your cloak. We’ve got a big wooden weaving loom and we’ll be able to deliver a heavy cloak perfectly in time. It won’t be as fine as the one you were supposed to have, but …’

‘Oh, I’m already grateful I’ll have one at all. I had already reconciled myself to hastily embroidering the outline of a direwolf’s head on a plain piece of fabric’, Sansa brought out, her voice suffocating.

These women, she could kiss their feet out of gratitude.

She really would have to thank the old gods and the new tonight.

‘Oh child, you’ll definitely have something better than that. What do you want on it?’

Now she could draw a sketch of what the maiden cloak of the Starks looked like. She had often snuck towards the room where it was stored away to look at it, and had even put it on once right before she left for King’s Landing. She’d imagined herself walking down the aisle with it towards Joffrey. The cloak had been made for her great-great grandfather Willam to cloak his first wife Lady Lyanne Glover after the previous Stark cloak had become too threadbare. Even around eighty years old, the cloak had been well preserved, compared to the Lannister cloak. White damask, a direwolf embroidered with cloth-of-silver, with an eye made of amber. Hemmed with white fur and lines of freshwater pearls. True pure beauty. It couldn’t be recreated.

‘Would it be possible to have six direwolves on a white field.’

‘I don’t know what a direwolf is, you’ll have to sketch a – mind, very simple and stylized – drawing of it. But sure, six animals on a field, we can do.’

‘Four grey ones with yellow eyes, one white one with red eyes, and one black with green eyes. Would that be possible.’

‘Why wouldn’t it be? Sounds easy enough. It’ll be done within less than two days.’

‘Oh thank you, thank you so much.’

‘No trouble’, the woman clacked her tongue.

‘Draw that wolf child, then I can immediately take it to the atelier.’

Amaryllis, being more familiar with Lady Alerie’s rooms, retrieved a sheet, a quill and a jar of ink. And in less than a minute, the old woman was off with the drawing.

‘Why those colours?’ the servant girl, Lila, asked.

‘Oh, well, the direwolf on a white field is the coat-of-arms of my house. But back when I was home, we found a dead direwolf with six puppies still clinging to her. We took them all. It was almost too perfect that there was one for each sibling. Lady was mine, and she had grey fur and golden eyes just like Grey Wind and Nymeria and Summer. My brother Rickon had a black one with green eyes… And Jon, right when we thought there were no more pups, found a final white pup. It was so silent, it was a miracle he found it. But that became his.’

The other girls took the news in without attaching any importance to it. She would include Jon. She might never have the chance to apologize for her awful behaviour, but at least she could do this, and include him in her family, on the Stark cloak, on the last day she was a true Stark.

After an afternoon of diligent work, the sleeves were finished and the basic skirt was done as well. Once upon a time, she’d been dressed in the perfect gown of dove grey and ivory. It had been her first womanly gown, and she had been certain Willas would fall for her if he saw her in it. Not an hour later, it had become her wedding gown.

Her new dress would be nothing like it. She would base herself on the fashion of the Reach and the North, and not on the theatrical style of King’s Landing. She wouldn’t allow King’s Landing to touch her in any way, she could deeply sympathize with Willas in his decisiveness on that point.

No dagged sleeves almost reaching the ground, but instead slim paned virago sleeves with a light blue silk peeking out from underneath damask white fabric as a nod to her Tully heritage beneath the Stark white. The slashes were lined with a grey velvet so dark it could almost be black. Black dyed Myrish lace spilled out of the sleeves at the wrists.

She smoothed out the light blue underskirt and the finished white damask overskirt that would split in the middle to show the blue underskirt. She mused white would be the safest choice, grey would clash horribly with Willas’ presumably dark green and golden dress, not that the cool white and blue were a lot better, yet it was still an improvement.

Thinking about Willas, it was time to go to him.

At this point, it would be stupid to enquire after his wellbeing, so she didn’t.

‘How did it go this afternoon, my lord?’ Sansa asked as she let herself into the private dining room of the Tyrell family. The walls were covered in a tapestry going round fully, except on the window side, of a hunting scene with bygone generations of Tyrells chasing deer.

‘As well as a funeral procession can go’, he answered quietly.

‘I believe I now know why the silent sisters are silent’, he said mysteriously.

She took the bait as she sat down across from him.

‘Why is that?’

‘Everyone was coming to me, talking empty pleasantries, being sorry for me, consoling me for my loss, speaking about their memories of my brothers while all I wanted was silence. Those were my brothers being transported in caskets. They were right there, except they weren’t.’

She remembered she had hid away in her room, in no mood for conversation or even sound. But he wasn’t able to escape it.

‘Did none of them have anything to say that was worth listening to?’

‘A couple. Ser Gyles Oldflowers and Jon Cupps came back. Well, Oldflowers came back since he lives here, Lord Cupps only came to Highgarden to speak to me.’

Sansa waited for him to continue explaining.

‘Ser Gyles was under Garlan’s command. He explained to me how the battle went down. It was one thing to read about it briefly in letters but the reality… was horrifying.’

‘Do you want to talk about it?’

‘Apparently there was a mist so thick you couldn’t see through it. And in that mist, krakens tore down the chains blocking the ironborn from entering Oldtown through the water, after they tore to shreds every ship out on the water.’

Her blood turned into ice.

‘Oh Mother.’

‘Garlan realized and, of course, being the absolute genie and hero he is, took part of his troupes to the back gate to get into the city via the mainland. That’s the last time Ser Gyles saw my brother, since he left him in command to control the sea entrance. Lord Cupps was with Loras, and admitted that Loras took his best men because he wanted to join in on the action. He felt useless taking back the Shields, since there was no immediate need for a fight. That’s so Loras. Rash and brave and foolish till the last. So him’, Willas shook his head, putting down his glass of wine and burying his head in his hands.

She heard his breathing waver. The poor man. But how could she help? There might as well have been miles between them instead of only the table.

She reached her hand across, and he took it briefly, giving her hand a rub of his thumb, before their hands fell silent. It was an awkward comfort, and she quickly withdrew her hand as the soup was brought in.

‘Lord Cupps was with them almost until the last. Told me the ironborn were almost completely extinguished by that point. But of course it were _my_ brothers who managed to find the most persistent and dangerous of them and fought them three to one. During the fight Lord Cupps got separated from them. Last he saw my brothers alive, they were fighting back to back. Joking as they fought.’

Big fat tears were rolling off his cheekbones and into his beard as he stared at his soup.

Sansa felt it was inappropriate to eat.

‘Next he saw them…’

‘Garlan lay dead half hidden in an alley, and Loras laid five feet away.’

‘But he was injured himself, and passed out before he could reach the infirmary. He woke up in it, well cared for, and enquired after them. Since they and I are his cousins after all, and his lords. But they told him they’d found Garlan, but not Loras. And that they thought Loras was away at the Shields. Alarm bells went off of course, it was clear that their arrival still wasn’t well known. The spread of information was slow because of the absolute mess the city was in. But he insisted that he knew Loras was present, as he’d arrived with him, and that Loras had lain close to his brother. So he… he had to go to where the dead were laid out to be recognized by their fellows… They hadn’t been able to identify Loras due to his injuries.’

Sansa was glad she hadn’t swallowed a mouthful, her throat constricted.

Beautiful ser Loras, so beyond identification even his wonderful armour and the close proximity to Ser Garlan hadn’t been enough for those carrying him away to recognize him.

‘Oh.’

‘My baby brother.’

He looked up at Sansa then, eyes shiny and lashes sticky with tears.

‘He was the most… beautiful of us… And the Stranger robbed him of his dignity and grace as some kind of cruel joke.’

But what could she say?

‘Have you seen him? Perhaps he was just…’

What could she say that was anywhere near a comfort? She’d seen men after battle before.

‘Blood and dirt can cover a man’s face, doesn’t have to mean he was very… hurt.’

She knew it was stupid. He must have been very hurt if he died because of it. But she hoped Willas understood that she meant that Loras wasn’t necessarily mutilated.

‘I didn’t dare to go in the sept. Couldn’t either, the silent sisters wanted to dress my brothers in some of their finest clothes first, for the wake.’

‘Gave them the clothes they liked best. And their brooches.’

The same brooch he still wore on his chest. The Tyrell Rose surrounded by a circle of thorns.

‘They’re down here… My brothers are somewhere down there. They’re so close… Except they’re not.’

A vivid flash of her father’s decomposing face, picked at by crows, shot through her memory. She closed her eyes and turned away, willing the memory away. They wouldn’t be like that. They were properly prepared by the silent sisters within hours of their deaths. Their organs removed.

‘Are they to be embalmed or will they…’

Cooked until skeletons. It was what had been done with her father’s body, as the trip to Winterfell was over two months and the weather conditions would vary too much to keep it in a good condition.

‘They are already, they did it in the boat, to keep them looking… well I suppose.’

He looked at her again.

‘Is it bad of me to doubt if I even want to see them? In my mind, they’re alive. I wonder if seeing them… will haunt me and warp the memories so they carry their dead faces.’

She wanted to say something soothing.

She didn’t want to lie.

‘I can still remember my father’s face. But… There’s not a month, and it used to be not a day, that didn’t go by when I didn’t see his face… as it… was put on…that… It was horrible.’

She bit her lip.

Willas was quickly catching up on her with the family loss and trauma, she’d had a head start.

His lips pulled again at seeing her suffering, his eyes blazing with anger at what had been done in King’s Landing.

‘And did you have as much trouble eating? I just… can’t even imagine eating, knowing that they’re there… and are supposed to be up here with me. They should’ve come off that boat alive, and have ridden by my side towards the castle as the coffin carriers slipped and slid on the mud road. Telling about their adventure and the fear and the magic and their victory. But instead I had their right hands, telling me how valiantly they fought, about ten minutes before the battle was over. Do you have any idea how both horribly angry and proud that makes me? That they survived thousands of ironborn and magic monsters for hours, only to die when there was virtually no enemy left standing? They managed to find the very few still left standing to get killed by.’

‘They were standing there until the last for a reason.’

It left Sansa’s lips before she could help it. Her cheeks burned, but now she had to see it through.

‘They managed to stay standing despite all the odds going against them, your brothers didn’t lose to just anyone, they were probably decades older and more experienced, the best men left standing. They weren’t killed by green boys. You brothers couldn’t be felled by anyone else.’

‘I know. That’s the horrible part. I’m proud. But why couldn’t _they_ have beaten _them_ instead?’

Dinner was a struggle to get through, and Willas couldn’t be compelled to eat much of anything, and instead only sipped on his red wine, the awful red kind Sansa couldn’t bear to taste on her lips. Too bitter. Too sour.

She was nipping off of blackberry wine instead, to go along with the blackberry sauce in which her meat was drenched.

Perhaps he was on his fourth cup, when Sansa gave up hopes of him eating even half his plate. But his eyes were alert as ever. She didn’t want to know how many glasses he’d had before her arrival. Or how much milk of the poppy and dreamwine they’d once given him during his time recovering that he was able to hold it all down without losing his clarity in the least. Just like her previous husband.

And his breath smelled just like the Hound’s when he Willas leant in to kiss her after she asked him whether he wanted to go down to see his brothers.

Funny, how things turned out. History never repeated itself, but it did rhyme.

‘You were right, by the way’, he admitted as he slowly came down the stairs beside her, heavily leaning on his crutches. He was able to stand now, had been the previous day, but he was sparing himself. His running around after the discovery of his brothers’ deaths hadn’t done him any good, and this time he was wise enough to sit down to recover. But he wouldn’t be carried down the stairs.

‘How so?’

‘All those by foot tripped in the mud. Going by horse was the wise thing to do.’

It wasn’t a victory she was particularly proud of, but she took it.

‘I’m glad you didn’t get hurt’, was all she said.

She was particularly glad Willas, unlike most other men, wasn’t too proud to accept advice or admit defeat.

She wished to offer her support, but knew she was no match for the crutches.

Only as the pretty tiles gave way for the worn down old pre-conquest mosaics, did Sansa wonder whether _she_ was ready to see the Tyrell brothers.

The heavy gilded doors with miniatures of the seven painted on them stared back at her.

‘I must.’

Sansa nodded.

‘Do you want to?’ Willas asked, looking at her over his shoulder.

‘Not sure. But I feel I must’, she repeated.

‘The burden of remaining while others go…’

‘Never gets easy’, she admitted.

‘And we’re far from done’, he sighed.

‘It’s horrible enough having to come to terms with it, but then all this arranging and funerals and so on… a man is barely allowed to take the time to process it all.’

‘I know just how you feel.’

‘Reckon you might. We understand each other quite well, don’t we?’

‘Better each day’, Sansa smiled softly.

‘Then do you understand…’

‘Oh yes, I’m sorry. Are you ready?’ Sansa asked as she rushed towards the door, cheeks burning.

Of course Willas couldn’t open the doors. His hands were quite full.

It felt like sacrilege to enter the sept. It was a tomb now, holding the bodies of Highgarden’s finest knights and lords who’d died during the battle. They were lined up on the sides of the sept, two long rows of dead men on either side. But in the middle, right in front of the altar from which the septon preached, between the stained glass windows and the tall marble statues of the Mother and the Father, right between motherly love and duty, were two tables upon which laid, upon layers of black velvet, two bodies.

They were barely visible from the entrance.

The silent sisters had turned the sept into one big cloud of incense. It burned her nostrils and irritated her nose.

Finally, she took notice of grey shadows moving on the sides. The silent sisters were still present, praying in front of the altars of the gods. But they had moved on from singing hymns.

One stood close by the door, but apparently recognized Lord Willas, and so she let them pass her by wordlessly. She was probably there to keep the others out until Willas had seen his brothers. Sansa knew that someone was meant to stand vigil at the body, a family members, most frequently, but there were so many bodies, it was easier to have the silent sisters remain present.

A part of her brain was so detached from the horror she could only think about how ironic it was that many of these men died because of the mysterious fog surrounding the battle site, and they were now once again swallowed by a fog as they awaited burial.

The silence was thick and smothering, only the thuds of Willas’ crutches broke it. He appeared to be painfully aware of that himself.

If he valued the silent sisters, she was prepared to remain silent unless spoken to.

This was a moment she’d never had. But it wasn’t one she envied, she felt sick even though it weren’t her brothers laying there.

Her father’s face was too vivid in her mind, and she couldn’t bring herself to approach beyond the lines of chairs.

She could see their shoes and green clothes, and their brown hair. She wasn’t sure she wanted to see their faces. She already had such a hard time with one face haunting her.

Willas had gotten closer, but she was pretty certain he hadn’t looked up once.

He was forcing himself to splutter through.

The Tully words wouldn’t missuit him, she mused.

She noticed his hands tightening and relaxing around his handgrips, and his feet shifting. He was growing frustrated, but she didn’t know with what.

‘A chair’, he admitted with a suffocated voice.

He’d wanted to kneel at their bodies. But he couldn’t.

Best not to let him dwell on what he couldn’t.

She took a chair and silently walked over.

Without meaning to, her curious eyes flitted to the bodies.

She froze, and was only awakened by the clattering of his crutches.

‘It’s unsettling, isn’t it? Who are they trying to fool with those eyes?’ he laughed. But it was a breathless painful laugh.

Wry morbid humour, apparently they had another thing in common.

Loras and Garlan’s eyes were covered with stones upon which brown eyes were painted. It wasn’t a Northern custom, bodies were burned. But luckily her mother and septa had told her everything there was to know about the Faith. 

‘They say it is ill luck to look upon the face of death, they say. This way we aren’t really looking at them.’

‘Ill luck was them dying’, he said.

‘The stranger has already taken them, he knows they are dead. We know they are dead. I don’t see what makes the eyes any different to look at than the lips. What fool first came up with that?’

She bit her lip to keep from smiling. Even now, his mind demanded reason and logic. But customs weren’t made up out of logic.

He moved closer, and inadvertedly, she glanced at their faces again.

They weren’t _horrible_.

They looked peaceful. Sleeping.

Admittedly, it was an odd look on the both of them.

Garlan wasn’t smiling.

And Loras wasn’t frowning or laughing.

It was an unnatural peace.

But not ugly.

She couldn’t even see what had made Loras unrecognisable in the first place.

But Willas did, apparently, as he moved closer, intrigued by the bodies he had been so afraid of.

And he took away one stone.

He staggered backwards, as if shot.

Sansa came to his side to catch him. He wasn’t good on his feet, and she really didn’t want him to topple over Garlan and fall on top of his dead brother.

That _would_ leave a scar on his mind.

Her eyes flew to Loras, and all the breath was knocked out of her.

His lively beautiful face flashed in front of her eyes as he presented her a rose during the Hand’s Tourney.

His eye socket appeared empty, and ugly red scar tissue circled his thick eyelashes, and ran from his eye to his temple.

Willas was shaking in her arms, and his weight grew heavier and heavier to bear every second.

They collapsed on the floor together.

Willas wouldn’t be the maimed rose.

Perhaps it was a blessing, that no one else would see Loras this way.

To them, he would forever remain the most beautiful male rose.

There was no three day wait. Their presence in the sept, and the knowledge they were still present, haunted Willas. He couldn’t eat. He couldn’t sleep. Sansa had just sat through another dawn with him, after she’d managed to get him back upstairs, when he decided that there would only be one day to view the dead. And in the evening, the first series of funeral services would be held. At midday the day after, the last funeral, the one of his brothers, would be held, followed by a procession towards the family crypts.

It put pressure on the builders, but luckily the tombs were almost fully done and there remained only details to be done.

But the pressure it put on the wedding preparations was bigger.

She only had the day that was about to dawn and the two following days to finish her dress, and the kitchen would have to rush the cake.

Oh well, they weren’t exactly big on a pigeon stuffed cake, for understandable reasons.

By twilight, Willas had managed to get himself together again, by doing what he always did, focussing on something else.

‘I have been wondering’, he said as he stroked her hair.

Sansa looked up from the poetry book on their laps.

‘Did your mother ever… talk to you about weddings?’

Her cheeks were aglow. She instantly knew what he was talking about.

‘Only a little. I last saw her when I was still engaged to Joffrey. And, well, my father and King Robert had settled on a long engagement. So there was no need.’

‘I see. And… before your marriage to…’

‘No one prepared me. One minute I was being shown a new dress, the next I was pushed towards the sept.’

‘Thought so… I… Know I shouldn’t talk about it. Or even reference it. I would have asked my mother to talk to you. But she’s not here, and if she was well… I think she might have had some things to say about us’, he smiled wryly.

‘But I fear that the only things maidens ever catch about it is that you will have to spread your legs, something vague about doing your duty, and some bawdy jokes from the mouths of men you only vaguely understand.’

The burn in her cheeks grew in intensity, and she dipped her head in quiet admittance.

‘I once got a gift from Prince Oberyn, on my twentieth birthday. Dornish joke to send a book to a booklover but have the content be entirely inappropriate by standards north of Dorne… He probably did it to egg me on, since he knew I wasn’t very extroverted after my accident, and no doubt hoped my curiosity would send me running back into the world… I’m talking too much again’, he sighed and took a deep breath.

‘It’s not an appropriate book. And the contents are beyond anything you probably would have ever heard of. But frankly, I believe that information gives one a sense of control. And don’t believe much in censure. I don’t know how to broach the topic, but this covers all and more. You don’t have to read all of it, or frankly any of it if you don’t want to. But there’s no one around who you can ask questions in private. And I want to give you time to learn about what is possible in private. If you have questions, ask. And please, don’t fear the contents. I won’t do anything with you that you’re unwilling to do. Alright?’

She appreciated that he talked to her as a woman grown, but she did feel an awful lot like a girl during his talk.

She could only nod.

‘It’s on the table over there, you can take it with you on your way out.’

‘You want me to go tonight?’

‘I’d say you’ve deserved a night’s rest. I could kiss you forever for staying up with me, but I can see it’s taxing you’, he smiled as he traced the dark circles underneath her eyes.

Sansa only had time to give the book the briefest look after she left his rooms that night, but the pictures and words… Well, Willas was definitely right when he said it was inappropriate and beyond anything she’d heard of. But she had to get up early the next morning for the next series of funerals. And she was indeed incredibly tired.

Sansa could almost be jealous of Loras and Garlan. Her father had been beheaded on a bright summer’s day, while the clouds wept for them.

The entire sept was filled to the brim with people sniffing and crying, their voices breaking as they carried through the hymns.

It flew by in a trance. She could only focus on fragments.

The prisms that didn’t shine it’s seven-coloured beauty because it wasn’t touched by sunlight.

The lack of coloured light shining in through the windows.

The fumes making her eyes tears.

Willas’ hand clutched white around the ball of rice and the other breaking her own hand.

The moving statements by the septon.

And then the deafening silence as Willas, and her a couple of steps behind, followed behind the coffins, and the rest of the Highgarden following behind them.

The weight of Willas’ arm around her neck as she helped him down the stairs.

The bright light in the crypts as a million candles burned to lead the way.

And finally, the end of the line, where Loras and Garlan’s tombs smelled of perfume meant to drown out the scent of wet paint.

But both tombs were beautiful. And both their statues were finished, lifelike, and dressed in their armour, clutching their swords.

Loras’s plaque read: “Beloved brother to Lord Willas, Lord Garlan of Brightwater Keep, and Queen Margaery. Known as the Knight of Flowers, tourney hero, and saviour of Oldtown. Fought defending Oldtown from the Ironborn Invaders. Valued member of the Kingsguard. Aged seven-and-ten.”

Garlan’s plaque read: “Beloved husband of Lady Leonette Fossoway. Father. Brother to Lord Willas, Ser Loras and Queen Margaery. Known as Garlan The Gallant, Lord of Brightwater Keep and saviour of Oldtown. Talented military commander. Fought defending Oldtown from the Ironborn Invaders. Aged three-and-twenty.”

They were lifted in their stone sarcophagus. And a last hymn was sung, followed by the songs of the top seven singers of the competition.

It felt wrong, seeing the sarcophagi shut. But she could feel a slight lightness in her chest as well, knowing they had been done right. They were buried with full honours. Their memories were turning into legend already.

Silent tears rolled down her cheeks.

They would never really be her brothers.

And she couldn’t help but weep for the man and his wife who had already been prepared to welcome her as their sister.

And Loras, the dashing young man who would forever remain in her mind as the most handsome young man she’d ever set her eyes upon.

She could tell her children about them.

Willas’ children.

Their was a hollowness in her chest.

Somewhere she'd held onto the belief that she would have felt better about the deaths of her family members had they been given their proper burials. And while she did feel it was therapeutic in a way, to know your family members were cared for after their deaths, and laid to rest properly, with a lovely legacy, she knew it didn't make Willas feel any better.

She laid her head against his shoulder, and felt his arm around her tighten.

They were both leaning on each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songs I used for inspiration to create the songs the musicians made;
> 
> Keep the home fires burning.  
> \- Legend of John Henry’s Hammer.  
> \- Ghost of a Rose.  
> \- Chanson de Roland.
> 
> I checked A Text of Ice and Fire for rice. There’s a reference to black rice in a Dany chapter. So I guess rice isn’t unheard of. The reach has a lot of foreign trade so I reason they would have gotten their hands on rice. And perhaps the Dornish Marches could be a good location to grow it, or they could just buy it. 
> 
> I don't want to romanticize not eating properly in this chapter. In this fic Willas is an emotional eater who eats quite a bit when he's stressed (just casual stress eating, no problematic relationship with food at all) but doesn't manage when he's very sad as a sign that he isn't fine. I'm so tired of always seeing characters who can't eat when they're stressed and are always stick skinny, I decided that wouldn't be the case here. But it's a common sign of grief that I experienced myself to be unable to eat, even as a lik bit of a stress eater myself.
> 
> You know, writing Willas, I'm almost always listening to either instrumental music, or The Scorpions and Metallica. He just gives off the most classic rock vibes, even though he's anything but rock and roll. So this one goes up to 'Send me an angel', 'When you came into my life', 'Still loving you' and 'November Rain'.
> 
> I won't be able to post for a while. Next week the new academic year starts and I have another thesis and a slew of courses, and I'm a workshop leader on a "Colonialism and Education" workshop for a Power Structures and Colonialism Throughout History seminar. I'm excited and frightened. 
> 
> So the next chapter, will finally move on beyond the dark atmosphere of the past few chapters. I'm sorry to all of you who had come to this story for fluff and got heartache. But I'm not sorry to say I adored reading your comments about where and when I managed to get a few tears out of you all. I laughed so hard. Thank you all for those kinds of comments!
> 
> Next chapter will be the WEDDING CHAPTER (and I love a good wedding, heh). But it will not be until the second weekend of October at the soonest. I like to take my time for it. Hope you can all understand.
> 
> Oh I also added some chapter titles to easier navigate the story since it is getting long.


	20. The weirwoods

_So this was what it felt like to prepare for a wedding,_ Sansa thought to herself as she looked at the singing women sitting around her.

She’d risen at dawn, her dress still required quite a lot of embroidery and had to be assembled today. The wedding was tomorrow, after all.

They had been betrothed for only a short time, yet a lot had to be done for the wedding of the next Lord Paramount of the Reach. Even if said lord was mourning and winter was upon them.

There could be no absolute decadence like the endless amount of courses at Joffrey’s wedding, not that they wanted that. Mindful that they shouldn’t use too much food at the start of winter, they opted for a moderate ten course meal, deciding that all leftovers would be given to the people living around Highgarden. But the limited amount of courses still required a lot of work from the kitchen.

And of course the performers had to prepare a play, while the castle had to be readied for a feast.

Her biggest fear had been to marry without a proper cloak, but today when she opened the door to the moderate sitting room of the Ladies-in-waiting she’d been surprised to come face to face with a gorgeous cloak of white.

Rosey, Lady Alerie’s old dressmaker, had really done her best, and her team had worked long and hard hours to get it finished in time.

The white cloak had two wolves running along the train, two wolves wrapped around the shoulders, and one white one laying around her neckline. The sixth wolf took up the entirety of her back. It was the Stark coat-of-arms direwolf with golden thread for eyes and cloth-of-silver fur. Six wolves, six Stark children. Upon closer examination she noticed two inches of blue wave pattern along the hem, with a couple of trout jumping above the water. They had even included a reference to her mother’s family.

She didn’t cry, but she did break decorum and kissed the dressmaker’s hands, thanking her profusely.

It all went so fast, she couldn’t have managed without them.

She became betrothed on the seven-and-tenth day of the month, and would be married by the five-and-twentieth.

It was nothing short of a miracle that in five days a cloak and an entire dress were made. Granted, with the help of over two dozen people.

Now that her dress was finished, except for the embroidery on the bodice Sansa was doing herself, the women sat around her doing their own little needle tasks while singing.

They were really looking forward to the wedding, Sansa hadn’t even heard so much talk about it, or so many lewd comments when Margaery had been about to marry Joffrey. Really, where did they even learn those songs?

“How can I keep my maidenhead,  
My maidenhead, my maidenhead;  
How can I keep my maidenhead,  
Among so many men, O.”

Sansa shook her head.

_They would get along well with Randa, she would love those kinds of songs._

Part of her wished to be with Willas.

His mourning was still so fresh, but he had determined they’d marry fast, before anyone could oppose it. And the timeline had sped up even more when he decided his brothers would be buried after only a day and a half instead of three. He had to understand she was simply too busy preparing the wedding.

Her belly turned. Soon they’d be together.

Her thoughts slipped to the book she’d thumbed through the night before.

She’d read the first few pages with ease. They described how this book was the brain child of an unknown Dornishman from times gone by, who’d put down all his tips, tricks and knowledge on the art of lovemaking. Underneath that bulletin there was a short calligraphed couple of sentences describing that this was a gift given to the Lord of the Land of the Art of Romance, gifted by the Prince of the Land of the Art of Lovemaking.

But then she’d hit the explicit images. She’d had to tell herself that Willas had allowed her to see them, and she would soon have to face their bedroom anyways. She’d seen queens neglect their people, heard of kin slaying kin. She had watched her father’s decomposing head. Surely she could bear the sight of nude bodies. With Northern determination she’d stared at the page until the sense of doing something forbidden wore off.

The book contradicted nearly everything she’d heard about intercourse before. It described that since the continuation of mankind was normal, the art of lovemaking was therefore equally normal as it held – but didn’t have to – the potential of creating life. They didn’t call the creation of children the most important reason to do practice the act though, they called pleasure and intimacy the main motivators, which was why, apparently, it was important that both lovers had to please and be pleased.

 _How Dornish_ , Sansa thought.

As she finished another silver coloured Tyrell rose underneath her already embroidered direwolf’s paws, she laughed as the women started singing The Dornishman’s Wife.

She wondered whether Willas subscribed to the ideas presented by the book. Until now Randa had been the only one who seemed excited about performing her marital duties. Her mother and Cersei had called it a duty.

_But would Willas give me a book full of mistakes if he wanted me to know what to expect?_

_The book also contained many positions, but a lot of them included men standing or sitting on their knees. Could Willas even do that? Is this book a warning that our wedding night will come with difficulties?_

She was called away from her wondering by her friend.

‘Say, Alay- Sansa, have you heard anything new on Lady Leonette’s travels?’ Amaryllis asked.

‘No. Only that she left the day after the trial ended. That was eleven days ago. I know she took a smaller company with her to speed up her travels, but given her… well, anyways, as far as I know she’s not a fast traveller’, Sansa quickly corrected herself.

No one knew about her pregnancy yet. She had to keep it that way until it was fine for others to know.

‘She’s a capable rider though, all Fossoways are. And she for sure rides a horse herself instead of a cart. She must be in Tumbleton by now.’

‘At the very least’, clucked Lila.

‘I’ve waited on her before. She could ride at an unrelenting pace for an entire afternoon. The only thing that slowed her down was her fear of tiring her horse’, the maiden explained.

‘She’ll be taking the boat from now on, I take it.’

‘Is there still one left? I heard they took almost all of them down south?’ Lila asked.

‘I believe there are still a few merchant vessels left. They couldn’t put the entire maritime trade on hold for weeks on end. That would be disastrous’, Rosey huffed.

‘And even if they took all vessels, they’re returning now, aren’t they? The first couple of dozen returned with… well, the coffins. And ships have been passing by, moving up and down the Mander ever since. The ship route to Tumbleton isn’t that long, right?’ Amaryllis asked.

‘By ship, one can cross the Reach very fast’, Sansa shared. ‘It only took me a couple of days to reach Highgarden from the second I boarded a ship. And we weren’t even trying to be fast.’

‘So Lady Leonette will be here shortly’, Amaryllis guessed.

‘But not in time for the wedding’, said Rosey. ‘Will our Lady? She wasn’t far. Longtable. Less than five days.’

All eyes were on Sansa again.

‘I don’t know. Last I heard, Lady Alerie was distraught by the news of ser Loras and Lord Garlan’s deaths. By that time, she wasn’t traveling yet.’

With Willas, she just called his brothers by their names. Was she supposed to address them by their names when talking to servants, to show her closer connection to them? Or did she have to address them by their titles until she was married to Willas? She was schooled in courtesy, but these kinds of technicalities had never been explained. Perhaps it was safest that she would always be formal to others when discussing her lord husband’s family. Nobody could ever be blamed for being too polite, she’d learned in King’s Landing.

‘She might stop in Cider Hall then, mourn with Lady Leonette’s parents for the death of their good-son.’

‘I doubt it. Longtable isn’t far from here. And Cider Hall even less. Once she hears of the wedding, she won’t waste her time mourning. I dare bet she’ll want to be here’, exclaimed Rosey.

‘Speaking of lords and ladies of the Reach… Did you hear they allowed Ser Horas to go to the Arbor? He left King’s Landing per queen Margaery’s decree as the Arbor is in dire need of him during their time of crisis, and his brother was sent along with him’, Amaryllis shared. ‘My mother heard one of the sailors talking about it. After all, Lord Redwyne disappeared in Oldtown.’

‘Wonder why they didn’t go to the Arbor earlier. Their island was preparing for war. Their father about to enter battle. Men always risk dying in battle, even wealthy lords.’

‘Cersei kept them to control Lord Redwyne. She only allowed the youngest to go, but kept the heir. She did it with many noble families. Nobody would dream of going against the queen when their heirs are in King’s Landing with her’, Sansa explained. She wasn’t hurting anyone or giving away prized secrets by telling that.

‘They should’ve had snakes instead of lions on their coat-of-arms, if you ask me’, said Rosey with her nose held high in the air. ‘Never heard any good of them.’

They kept talking about noble houses on the Shield Islands, matters of succession, and court gossip. Sansa let them but remained focussed on her needlework, she didn’t know anyone they talked about personally anyways.

Finally she’d finished her embroidery. Now her bodice was decorated with a field of Tyrell roses and a direwolf in the field. She reached out for the box of mother-of-pearls with holes in them. They would look lovely placed in the middle of each flower.

‘It gets dark way too quickly nowadays. It’s only around dinner and it’s already darkening outside’, pouted Amaryllis.

‘At least it isn’t raining today’, comforted Sansa.

‘I remember days when it was dark before dinner’, told Rosey.

‘Every time a winter comes, we fear the moment we notice the days getting shorter. And we only let go of that tension and fear once we notice the days are shortening again.’

‘Because of the long night?’ Sansa asked.

The Tyrell family dressmaker nodded.

‘It only happened the once, but we’ve all heard stories of winters with days so short there was only light for a couple of hours. Perhaps they are a thing of the past, but only fools don’t fear winter. Winters may become longer again. Perhaps one day the long night returns.’

‘Gives me shivers to even consider it’, Amaryllis said, effectively shivering.

Sansa had heard the tales of Old Nan as well. She wondered what Willas would think about it. He was worried for winter because of realistic challenges like food shortages and frozen rivers. But would he believe in a never ending night? She doubted it. Willas was a man of science. He would probably say that there was no evidence for it, as it happened before the earliest historical sources were written. He didn’t believe in Garth Greenhand, the Children or the Seven either.

‘Did you say it was dinner time?’ Sansa asked of Amaryllis.

‘Oh, yeah. No doubt the dinner bell will ring soon. But well, look at the progress I made on my wedding dress!’ Amaryllis declared, holding up what was the beginning of a bodice.

‘How is it going with your dress, my lady?’ asked Rosey of Sansa.

Sansa cut the last thread before holding up her now finished bodice.

‘A thing of beauty’, Amaryllis smiled.

‘I just need to sew it all together, and then my dress is done’, Sansa smiled.

‘Oh, let us help you!’

They all sat down on the floor, her wedding dress assembled in the middle between them. One sewing on one arm, the other sewing on the other, and one working on attaching the skirts. They worked diligently, patiently waiting until the front side of the skirt was attached before turning the dress round and attaching the sleeves and skirt to the back.

‘You have to try it on.’

‘But-‘

‘We need to see how it looks. Then we can fix it if there’s something wrong.’

She was pushed behind a rosewood screen, Amaryllis quickly untying the laces of her blue dress and helping her into the heavy white dress of damask. Rolling her shoulders and lifting her arms, she was pleased to note that they fit perfectly. She could move her arms freely, while the paned virago sleeves still looked slim on her arms. The skirt did not crease in an unflattering manner where it was attached to her bodice.

Amaryllis pushed her from behind the screen. The other women present fell silent.

‘A mirror, we need a mirror.’

‘Fix one from Lady Alerie’s room. We’ll put it back. She won’t notice it’s been gone’, Rosey decided, ushering the servant girl Lila away.

A mirror was retrieved and put in front of Sansa.

She had barely recognized herself in her old wedding dress. Looking a lot more mature and ladylike than she had ever before. But now Sansa felt completely herself in a dress that embraced the fashion of the Reach and the modesty of the North.

‘You look like a snow queen, my lady.’

‘You do. Like a winter flower.’

Sansa brushed her hands over the smooth white damask, turning and admiring the sheen of the light blue silk underneath her overskirts and oversleeves. She was even glad of the dark grey trimmings on her sleeves and the black lace honouring the recent deaths of Willas’ brothers. They grounded the look.

‘Everyone who isn’t in love with you already will certainly love you once you walk down that aisle. Hundreds of eyes all on you’, Amaryllis sighed.

Sansa froze.

Hundreds of eyes.

All on her.

As she walked towards the septon.

She shivered as she remembered the face of the Grand Maester and her scarred little husband, standing underneath the glass dome of the Sept of Baelor, the crystal above them bathing them in the seven colours of the Faith.

It had taken all her willpower to hold back her tears and keep her hands from shaking.

All had watched.

Cold judging eyes.

Mocking eyes.

Indifferent eyes.

None had helped. Not even the Tyrells who had promised to help her escape.

To everyone, her marriage had been a show to watch, beauty marrying the beast.

She was but a name and a face to them, an actor instead of a living breathing girl.

She’d spoken the words void of emotion, as she did not doubt many had done before.

She had taken vows she had never respected.

Words are wind. They meant nothing. Thousands of wives had seen bastards being born. Thousands of vows forsaken. Her marriage had meant nothing.

She wished her next marriage could be special. With vows she hadn’t said before while cursing them.

A ceremony that wasn’t just a performance.

‘Yes, can’t believe it’s so soon already’, Sansa smiled.

They wouldn’t understand it.

None of them had been waken up one morning to marry without announcement. They hadn’t seen the depravity of King’s Landing. Hadn’t heard the rumours about Grand Maester Pycelle’s hungry gaze and eager hands. Hadn’t seen how every vow was made to be broken.

In their eyes she was a young girl who’d escaped a horrible past and had been awarded with the hand of their beloved heir. There was no reason for her to be anything but ecstatic.

‘Thank you all so much for helping me. I couldn’t be more grateful.’

As the others went to the hall, Sansa sought Willas in the library and his solar, only to be informed he was out in the dog kennel. A positive development, she reasoned. He’d been so busy, he deserved something that brought him joy.

The kennel wasn’t abandoned like the last time she’d visited it. Instead the kennel master – Rollo, she remembered – nodded at her in recognition.

‘He’s outside, if yer lookin’ f’r ‘im.’

‘Yes, thank you.’

She walked past the rows of half doors towards the metal door at the end leading out into the fenced patch of grass where the dogs could stretch their limbs.

Quietly pushing open the door to check no dogs were coming for her, she slipped through. About three dozen dogs were outside. It was a bigger field than she’d expected, filled with obstacles they could jump on, and sticks, ropes and even old leather to chew on.

It was easy to spot her betrothed, standing at the far end, his finger lifted above a couple of large hounds.

He’d discarded his coat and doublet, his cane leaning against the high fence on his side.

He was training them. He kept his finger pointed in warning as he lifted his other hand. A ball wrapped in leather.

He threw it, and three hounds ran after it, one sprinting past all others, narrowly avoiding collision with other dogs. The way its legs moved was simply magnetic to watch.

He retrieved the ball, but the other two were soon upon him.

‘Back!’ Willas called, but the dog who’d caught it sat down, chewing on its catch. The other two kept standing around it, turning and wagging their tails.

Willas whistled.

The other dogs came running back, but the first one gave no reaction.

She could see him sigh, his hand coming up to pinch his nose as he oft did when annoyed.

When he dropped his hand, he spotted her against the wall of the kennel.

She was caught snooping.

A smile found its way to her face.

‘I meant to find you, my lord. It is dinner time.’

‘And find me you did. Enjoying the show?’ he asked with a smirk.

His humour was returning. Another good sign.

‘I did admire the view. I take it they’re not meant to do that?’ she asked, nodding in the direction of the dog.

‘She’s useless. It’s partially my fault. I haven’t really been involved the past few months and I’m still the best trainer in Highgarden. But it’s also her nature. She’s just not as receptive to training as the others.’

_So it is a she._

‘Oh, so what to do?’

‘Can’t sell her as a hunting dog right now. She doesn’t listen well. Too much of an own mind. Perhaps sell her as a companion dog? But most want smaller dogs for indoors. Retrieve her, will you? Forgive me, there I go giving orders again. Bad habit. As you know by now.’

‘She won’t attack me? Even if I try to take her ball or touch her?’

‘No, if they lash out at humans we don’t let them get this age. I’m not one for breeding overly aggressive dogs, as some bad breeders sometimes do.’

‘Alright.’

Sansa pressed a kiss against his cheek and walked over to the dog. She tried not to flinch when other dogs sought her out, looking at her and some even jumping at her. She managed to push them all off with a laugh though.

It made her think of the direwolf pups, all nothing but young eagerness. They didn’t do anything to train them. They just naturally seemed to fit in with their family and their environment, feeling what type of behaviour was expected of them.

‘Hello there’, Sansa greeted the chocolate brown dog with a white snout. ‘Care to come?’

She patted her thigh.

The dog looked up, sliding its paw to cover the ball.

‘You can have it, just come with me.’

She took a few steps back, bending through her knees and patting her thighs again, clicking her tongue as had worked with Lady. She couldn’t whistle. Ladies didn’t whistle, so she’d never learned.

The dog stood, keeping the ball in its mouth.

‘Yes, good girl. Come, Willas wants to see you. Come’, she said as she patted her hip again, taking a few steps backwards. It hesitated for a while, but then followed her, wagging its fluffy long-haired tail.

‘Well, so you do listen to your own sex, hm?’ Willas questioned haughtily as the dog was brought back.

The dog wagged its tail, innocently dropping the ball at his feet.

Sansa laughed as Willas rolled his eyes.

‘You really are enjoying this’, Willas accused.

‘She’s just so sweet. Look at those innocent eyes. She has no idea what she did wrong.’

Willas’ brow creased.

‘You had a direwolf, right?’

‘I did.’

‘Was it as big as this one?’

‘Oh no, by the time of her death Lady’s back came up to my hip. I was an inch or two shorter back then. And she was the smallest of the bunch. All the others were bigger when I saw them last. I heard a rumour Grey Wind, Robb’s one, was almost as tall as a horse. And he was young too. I assume Jon and Arya’s one must be huge by now.’

‘ _Lady_?’ Willas laughed.

She raised her chin in defiance, straightening her shoulders and meeting his gaze in protest.

‘Oh I was young! That’s unfair.’

‘How young? _Five_?’ Willas jested.

‘Like the others named their dogs any better. Robb was the eldest and he named his one Grey Wind.’

He shook his head, his eyes creasing with delight.

‘Why do you ask?’ Sansa asked, picking up his doublet when he tried to pick it up with his cane. He accepted it silently.

‘I am trying to determine what dog breed would suit you’, he explained as he buttoned up his black doublet.

‘You want to give me a dog?’ she asked in astonishment, reaching for his forest green coat next, helping him in it.

‘I have three-and-twenty breeds. I hope one would suit your tastes. Dogs and wolves are related, so I did hope you’d prefer a dog over a cat. Our last indoor dogs disappeared when Loras took a hound to Storm’s End when he went to squire there. Margaery took a pointer on her way to Storm’s End after she became queen. She’d been excited to hunt in the woods around Storm’s End. Of course, when Renly died, she came running back before she ever reached him. The dog got lost in the chaos. So I’d say it’s about time to fill our family rooms up with some life again.’

Sansa sank through her knees, eyes on the brown tall dog with the curly hair. It immediately came to her, putting its paws on her thighs, face pressed to hers.

Willas tensed, but Sansa relaxed and turned her head down.

The dog licked her cheek and then put its snout on her shoulder. Impatiently, it hopped back off again and stood in front of her.

She extended her hand, slowly bringing it to its ears and giving it a rub. The dog turned around itself, and laid down on the ground in front of her, putting its snout on her lap.

‘So you wouldn’t mind a big one?’ he asked.

‘Oh, I’m used to something a whole lot bigger’, she laughed as the dog nuzzled her skirts.

Willas let out a choked laugh.

‘Lady slept in bed beside me, she could cover me whole when she laid down with her legs extended.’

‘I’m sure she could’, Willas agreed, his lips quivering with a big smile.

‘Does she have a name?’ she asked as she stroked her fur.

Willas shifted on his legs, leaning on his cane with his hand and leaning the opposite elbow on top of it. He was trying to get comfortable. Perhaps they’d better get moving. She had no idea how long he’d been standing, and she wished he would be able to stand on their wedding day.

‘Actually… Rollo named her Pudding.’

‘And I’m the one giving silly names?’

‘I witnessed their birth but didn’t stay around to name them. Told him to name them all something with a letter P. I thought he’d go for things like Prince, Pansy and Peony. My mistake. He named her for the colour of her fur.’

‘No wonder she turned out so simple and silly’, Sansa laughed.

‘How are the wedding preparations going?’ Willas asked, throwing the ball away again.

Pudding turned her head in confusion, the two other dogs were off already.

Sansa decided to take the hint, giving the dog a final two pats before rising.

‘Fine. Everything is ready now’, she answered as she dusted off her blue skirts.

‘Good’, he nodded.

‘Good’, she repeated.

‘Are you… looking forward to it?’

‘I am looking forward to being married to you’, she replied politely.

‘A polite answer, saying nothing at all about the day itself.’

Of course he saw her answer for what it really was. A clever empty reply to hide her deeper thoughts.

‘I do love my dress. And I have no doubt all will go well, and your people will be glad for the free food and festivities. But I’ve been married before. I had an elaborate wedding with a ceremony in a splendid sept followed by a big feast. I can’t help but think of it right now, and how miserable I was that day’, she admitted.

‘I promise it will be nothing like the previous time’, he promised softly as they walked to the iron door. They remained silent until they’d left the kennel. Nobody could overhear.

‘You weren’t even there’, Sansa pointed out.

‘How are they similar? You were asked to marry by me instead of taken by surprise. And I tried my best to give you control over every aspect of it, control you’d been denied the previous time. Is there something I have forgotten to make it better for you? Just tell me, please.’

‘It is still a wedding to an influential lord with a slightly injured nose and a love for books,’ she smiled as she tapped his nose, ‘in front of the Seven as we say vows that have been violated a million times by a million people, watched by hundreds of eyes as if we were a show, followed by a festivity filled with dancing…’

He cringed. Tyrion was a dwarf and he was a cripple, both maimed in their first real skirmish. She saw how he realized that Tyrion hadn’t been able to dance with her either, and that he wouldn’t be much better. And the wedding, well, Sansa knew his Faith was non-existent.

‘I’m afraid there’s little we can change about it. It’s not like there’s another way to marry’, he muttered as they walked aimlessly over a garden path.

Sansa felt his arm tense where she had her hand curled around it. Her fingers pressed into the fabric of his coat as she looked up at him.

She saw that he thought of it at the same moment as she did.

The corner of his lip pulled downward as he looked away, towards the tiny woods near the servant wing.

‘We keep the Faith in the Reach’, he said.

‘I know.’

She had never been married in front of the old gods.

‘I confess I know little of the old gods. How does it even work? Marriage in the North?’ he asked as they followed the path towards the weirwoods.

_Willas and Lord Tyrion are more alike than I once believed. He almost repeats his words. Perhaps I would have appreciated Tyrion better had he not been a Lannister, and forced upon me without a choice._

‘The ceremonies are shorter. There are no devotions, no priests or songs or candles. Only trees, and silent prayer’, she started, her mind going back to the previous time she’d had this conversation.

Back then she’d wanted Tyrion to stay out of the godswood. She needed to protect her conversations with Ser Dontos in the only place where she was ever allowed to truly be alone.

She also hadn’t wanted to share her second faith with him. The Lannisters had taken everything from her, she didn’t want to give them another piece of her. But Willas hadn’t taken anything from her. First he’d given her a place to work, then his knowledge, his heart, and finally his hand and power. She wanted to give something in return. She didn’t have access to any funds or worldly goods, but she could give him her knowledge.

‘Actually, the wedding is the only time words are spoken to the gods. And it’s the only ceremony we really have. First someone says: “Now comes insert the bride’s name, a woman grown and flowered, of noble blood and birth”. Followed by the question who gives her away. Then the question is asked: “Who comes forth to claim the woman?” To that question the groom answers by presenting himself. The bride is asked to accept her husband, and upon her agreement: "I take this man", bride and groom join hands, kneel before the heart tree, and bow their heads. Everybody prays in silence, and when the couple rise, the husband removes the maiden’s cloak and places his own cloak around her shoulders.’

‘Of course there’s kneeling’, Willas sighed. ‘Religious ceremonies aren’t very inclusive, are they?’

She thought back on how Tyrion had struggled placing the Lannister cloak around her shoulders. Bran, who would never be able to use his legs again. She remembered armless Mark Mullendore, whom Megga wanted to marry, he too would struggle during the ceremony. And now her second husband faced similar problems.

‘I never thought about that, at home. But I have recently met quite a few men who struggled with the performances required of them during ceremonies.’

She pressed herself closer against her future lord husband.

‘But I’m sure the gods won’t blame anyone for being unable to follow the customs when they are unable to. Unless the gods restore your leg, they can’t blame it for it not being able to bend fully.’

‘Let’s hope your gods are as tolerant as you. I heard they were hard gods.’

‘Hard gods? Why, they don’t have any rules or demands, while the seven do’, Sansa laughed as they walked into the small godswoods. The trees were old and stately, covered in moss and ivy.

‘Are we going to-‘ Sansa trailed off.

The idea made her stomach flutter.

A wave of wind swept past them, chilling her arms but lightening her heart.

‘I assumed you’d enjoy praying here the day before your wedding, since you won’t be able to the day of it. But if you want…’

‘You’d marry me here?’ she asked, turning to him.

‘In front of my gods?’

Without wedding clothes.

Without witnesses.

Just them underneath the silent watchful gaze of the old gods.

The gods in whose pool he’d carelessly swum, without any clue that he would one day promise himself to another in their presence.

The gods in front of whom she’d never lied, whom she’d never grown disillusioned with. The gods she couldn’t forsake because they were the only part of the North she could still carry with her in practice.

‘I have no care for the Faith. The only reasons I uphold the seven are because it is expected of me and because marriage in front of the seven is the only recognized form of marriage in the Reach. We’ll still have to marry in front of them tomorrow, but technically there’s nothing stopping us from repeating our promises twice. I’d say it’s even a smart move, then there are even more gods watching over us’, he teased, putting an auburn tress behind her ear.

She wrapped her arms around his neck, resting her head against his chest.

‘Oh Willas, thank you.’

‘It’s not a bother for me to accommodate my wife, Sansa.’

She lifted her head, finding his eyes looking down on her, warm and gentle.

A gentle high lord, brave and strong in his own way. She was sure her father couldn’t find fault with him. Him she could marry in front of her father’s gods.

She met his lips for a soft lingering kiss.

‘Shall we then, my pagan betrothed?’ he teased.

‘You know the way, you’re supposed to go first’, she smiled as she let go of him.

‘As my lady commands.’

He walked towards the large, ancient, and graceful trees, coming to a halt in front of the pool underneath the Three Singers.

Dusk had properly settled, and the woods had become dark.

In the dark his clothes and hair looked almost black.

She bit her lip. Doing it on their own meant things would be a bit unorthodox, but she’d heard stories of young lovers marrying in secret before.

‘Now comes Sansa Stark, a woman grown and flowered, of noble blood and birth’, she announced, unable to hold in her smile.

She shouldn’t smile. She was walking towards the weirwood trees for her own wedding. This was supposed to be the most solemn and holy moment of her life!

The leaves rustled, a cool wind crawling under her skirts and blowing them towards her, as if nature itself was encouraging her to go to Willas.

‘Who gives this woman away?’ Willas asked without turning. ‘That’s what I have to say, right?’

‘Yes’, Sansa responded with a grin.

Damn it, she could be a happy bride.

‘The lady gives herself away. But hopes her ancestors look down on her with approval.’

The wind blew so hard, she could almost hear it whispering.

This is ridiculous, I can’t hear the wind say yes. It’s wind.

She came up beside him, keeping her face turned towards the three faces in the trees.

‘Who comes forth to claim this woman?’ she asked.

‘I do… Lord Willas of House Tyrell, a man grown of noble blood and birth’, he answered, his voice hesitating every so many words.

‘And now you have to be asked to accept, right?’ he checked.

‘Whether I _take_ you’, she corrected.

‘Lady Sansa, do you take Lord Willas as your lord husband?’

He was supposed to extend his hand. So that she could literally take him as her husband.

Perhaps they should have practised it before, so he would say the correct words.

It was a good thing the old gods didn’t attach too much value to words.

‘I take this man’, she agreed, extending her hand towards his.

She was on the wrong side, he was holding his cane with that hand.

He quickly took it in his other hand, extending the one closest to her.

She wrapped her hand around his.

They were supposed to kneel.

She kept hold of his hand as she rested her knees on the cold soggy dirt, bowing her head.

Her father used to ask the old gods for guidance.

But he’d also told her he spoke to his ancestors through it, because the trees remembered them. Could she talk to her family too, then?

If all weirwood trees were connected, this one had to be connected with the one in Winterfell.

Mentally, she presented Willas to her family, begging forgiveness for all the times she had wronged them in the past and vowing to be a better person.

The gods she begged for strength and guidance, asking them to bless her marriage with sons, and promising to do right by the people of their lands.

Silently she rose.

She still wasn’t confident in her prayers to the old gods. She wondered whether there had once been customs and rules concerning how to address them, that had simply gotten lost throughout the ages.

It didn’t matter, she comforted herself. She had said what needed to be said, asked what needed to be asked.

She hadn’t noticed Willas slipping out of his coat.

By the time she turned towards him, he was already holding it out to her.

With a move of his arms, his coat was draped around her shoulders.

He brought his hands towards the front, closing the golden rose button right at her neck. A green coat with golden roses on it. It wasn’t a cloak, but it was as good as one.

It still had his warmth.

‘My lady wife’, Willas greeted her softly.

The wind tugged at her skirts and the coat around her shoulders.

The layers of her skirt blew between and around his legs, uniting them at the bottom the way the trees in front of them were united at the crown.

‘My lord husband.’

The moment felt too precious to break by blinking or moving.

But she did break it, raking her hand through his hair and bringing her lips to his.

‘Take me home.’

In the North, the strongest of men prided themselves on carrying their new wives from the godswood to their homes, as was apparently once tradition in the olden days.

But this was the year three hundred, and Sansa was happy to walk to the castle by his side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back!
> 
> Didn't specify what wedding now, did I.
> 
> Easter Egg: "How can I keep my maidenhead" is actually a poem by Robert Burns.
> 
> Reference to chapter 2: "Dogs and wolves weren’t made for a life like hers. Dogs belonged to a home, with a lord and a lady, free to run outside during the day, and rest in front of the fire at night. She wished she could have that one day, but those were dreams for spring. It was winter now, and she had to fight for her own survival." --> It was a not so subtle reference to what I wanted Sansa to have by the end of the story. Her life isn't a dream, but she finally gets some of the things she's dreamt of.


	21. The Wedding Feast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa and Willas are finally about to marry when the ceremony is interrupted by an unexpected guest. But that isn't the only problem. Highgarden has to be informed of Sansa's identity, and then, of course, there is the bedding ceremony.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, it's long AGAIN. But if you're still reading, you're used to it by now.
> 
> Moodboard for this chapter can be found here: https://growingstronglikeahighgardenrose.tumblr.com/post/632340425633677312/willas-and-sansa-wedding-it-is-time-for-the.

Women in the Reach had very elaborate bathing and wedding rituals, it seemed. Sansa was awoken together with the sun, ushered to the private bathing chambers of the Tyrell ladies. Fearing a repeat of the Solstice, Sansa was relieved when all ladies immediately left her behind with Amaryllis.

‘We’re going to do things a bit differently today. Tell me, how are brides in the North prepared for weddings?’

‘They bathe and put on their dress?’ Sansa asked hesitantly.

‘That’s what I thought. Alright, let’s get a mask on your face and some lightening product for your hair. It’s already a lot lighter than when you first got here but it still doesn’t match the hair at your crown.’

Mud was smeared on her face and a mixture of saffron, sheep urine, ash and other revolting goods was smeared in her hair. So far, she didn’t feel like a beautiful blushing bride yet. But Amaryllis didn’t allow for her to feel like a nervous one either, she kept her properly distracted.

‘So, what’s the first thing you’ll do once you become Lady Tyrell?’ she asked.

‘Leave the sept?’

She got a splash in her face for that one.

‘You tease. Come, time to scrub’, Amaryllis said as she scooped a handful of finely milled salt from a shell-shaped bowl. Sansa watched her as she rubbed the sand across her entire body. ‘Way more efficient than a brush or sponge, I assure you’, the blonde girl winked.

Margaery had always smelled nice, and had the smoothest skin. Little had Sansa known how much work went in it. This time she would discover what all the creams and liquids in the jars against the wall were for.

A stinging solution of vinegar, orpiment and quicklime was applied to her legs, arms, armpits and intimate regions next. She learned the painful way how Margaery managed to look like a child in a sleeveless dress.

‘Why are we doing this?’

‘Because men have only ever had whores before. It makes the transition easier for them.’

‘And whores do this why?’

‘Against the lice’, Amaryllis shrugged.

‘Lice!’ Sansa cried in horror.

‘No worries, I doubt Lord Willas has any. Still, it’s tradition.’

By the time she had finished bathing the sun had risen, casting the bathroom in shades of emerald and azure.

To Sansa’s amazement, although her hair was still wet, her locks appeared to be a proper auburn again.

‘Oh, before the others come in, I have a gift for you!’ said Amaryllis, running to a corner and retrieving a box.

‘What is it?’

‘Open it.’

The small flat box was opened.

In it rested a pink chemise with short embroidered sleeves, a pair of smallclothes reaching up until midthigh in the same sheer fabric, and smooth blue stays.

‘Oh.’

‘I made sure everything had a lot of complicated laces. They won’t get you out of it as they carry you to your room’, Amaryllis explained.

‘Our brides rarely wear stays, since many wear dresses with open backs in summer, or loose and flowy dresses. You really lucked out with the recent cold weather, now you can wear them and most men don’t know what to do with them’, explained Rosey.

‘Won’t they just take a knife and cut it?’ Sansa asked. She remembered King’s Landing too well. A dress was easily torn. But she hadn’t worn stays then as that wasn’t the fashion in summer.

‘If anyone came at you with a knife tonight, they’d be dead before they reached you. And there’s no way they’ll be able to tear it with their bare hands.’

Amaryllis knew how nervous Sansa was about the scars on her back. She’d given Sansa the only gift that could keep eager drunken men from disrobing her until she was bare and vulnerable.

‘Thank you so much!’ she cried as she threw her arms around the blonde girl.

‘I’m going to make you the head of my staff one day. Or anything you want, I promise.’

‘You’re welcome’, Amaryllis laughed as she patted Sansa’s back.

‘Let’s put it on.’

They both did the laces of each other’s stays. Then Amaryllis quickly threw on a dress and called in the other ladies to help Sansa dress.

It was an hour before noon before the fuzzing was over and Sansa was dragged downstairs to the big sept. As they breezed through the corridors and hallways she could hear the gossip begin.

'Is she wearing wolves on her maiden cloak?'

'Red hair. Did the bride not have brown hair?'

'She looks like a queen.'

'Stark wolves, Tully looks. That ain't a bastard of Lord Baelish.'

She just kept her head down and continued walking. In a few hours, everyone would know.

The ladies excused themselves and slipped through the ornate rosewood doors. The guards closing the doors behind them.

She only had to nod and both doors would be opened.

Music was crawling from between the cracks, harp, lute and drums.

Inside, the whole of Highgarden would be waiting for her.

She would have to walk past everyone, alone. All eyes on her.

At last, the nerves had come to her. And with her friend gone, there was no one to distract her anymore. She would have to do this on her own.

Be brave.

She only had to walk and say the vows she’d said before. All would be alright. She only needed to calm herself.

In King’s Landing she’d often been seconds removed from a panicked breakdown. But she’d learned to calm herself.

She took a deep breath, and started counting.

_One._

_Two._

_Three._

_Four._

_Five._

Was the pace of the drums fastening, or was it her heart pounding in her ears?

Sansa strained her ears. No, the sound wasn’t made by any instrument, nor had she imagined it.

The guards were looking around too.

The castle gave answer.

Her body turned around, trying to discover the direction the sound came from. It was clearer now.

Rustling clothes. Heavy footsteps. Two pairs, moving in sync.

Her heartbeat sped up. Her unconscious urging her to enter the church.

The steps were getting closer.

Their sound heavy. They were carrying something.

Right now, everything outside of the church was a threat. She had no rational explanation for her fear, but she had things taken away from her often enough that by now she recognized the dread pooling in her stomach. Until she was married in front of the new gods, she was in danger.

The chances of the footsteps belonging to someone who might ruin her marriage, like Littlefinger, a Lannister or a Tyrell were slim, but she didn’t want to test the odds. They always managed to defy her.

‘Please’, Sansa squeaked, pleading with the guards with her eyes.

Blood pounded in her ears, her hands growing cold.

She couldn’t get out another word.

The steps were right around the corner.

Her tongue turned to parchment in her mouth. The guards weren’t even looking at her, her half-finished question forgotten.

The first man became visible. A tall young man with red whiskers, carrying two poles of an expensive green sedan chair with a gilded frame.

Sansa’s heart plummeted. She instantly knew that all was lost. Her intuition had been right to fear the footsteps. Sansa Stark was made for bad luck.

Even as she held her body straight, her heart was breaking into pieces.

Arryk supported the back of the sedan. The brothers halted, the hall growing silent as they placed down the chair.

A cane appeared first from between velvet green curtains, held by a tiny hand spotted with age.

The curtains were drawn aside by the twins, revealing a tiny old woman dressed in black.

They helped her out of the chair.

The Queen of Thorns lifted the translucent black veil that was secured by a black torque decorated with emeralds and gold. Her brown eyes gleamed sharp and cold as they landed on Sansa.

It was claimed that she was near deaf and blind.

By now, Sansa was sure that it was all a farce, her sight still as sharp as her wit.

‘I see. As I thought’, the woman said ominously.

A smart woman would have thrown open the doors herself. But Sansa was frozen to the spot as the figure in black moved forward.

_Tap._

_Tap._

_Tap._

‘Well played, Lady Lannister, or do you prefer Stone? Oh no, that’s right, it’s Stark again. At least for the next five minutes. It all gets a bit confusing if you ask me.’

Sansa bit her tongue. It wasn’t just that she was ridiculed for decisions she had no say in.

But what could she say? Her name had changed a lot. And she had played the game hadn’t she?

It had been a calculated move on her part to get closer to Willas. And Willas had deliberately kept her close to get more information out of her concerning winter. She had deliberately participated in the Maiden Contest. Of course neither had anticipated what happened afterwards, but the decision to marry had, once again, been a deliberate move advantageous to both, for both rational and sentimental reasons.

But presenting it like nothing more than a scheme was to suck all the nuance and all the history between her and Willas out of it.

‘My lady, Lady Olenna, please.’

‘I wasn’t finished speaking. If I ever needed proof my family is comprised of idiots, I’ll think of the moment they hired a mysterious daughter of Lord Baelish who had existed as long as Sansa Stark had been gone. With looks so painfully Tully only a fool wouldn’t see through the flimsy disguise of some hair dye. But you and Littlefinger chose your moment well, going to Highgarden right when there was no one around who knew you.’

‘It is not what you think –-‘ Sansa started, but she was interrupted.

‘So you aren’t wearing the Tyrell wedding tiara and a Stark maiden cloak and my grandson isn’t standing on the other side of the sept?’ the old woman shot.

Sansa swallowed.

Alright, it was exactly what it looked like. But Lady Olenna couldn’t possibly understand why Sansa was standing in a wedding gown.

‘At Highgarden we have many spiders amongst the flowers. So long as they keep to themselves I let them spin their little webs, see what they are trying to accomplish. I was intrigued but didn’t see any direct harm in your presence. I was curious what Littlefinger was up to. I thought given his track record with your mother, that he’d try to fix history and try and legitimize his claim on the Riverlands by marrying a half-Tully. Oh well. I realized my mistake when news of the Solstice trickled in. You played your game well girl, very well. Using my son’s weak spots, his loneliness and his mourning. You’re a lot cleverer than I gave you credit for.’

Her eyes were sharp, an odd smile playing around her lips. In that instant, Sansa felt several sizes smaller than the old lady.

‘Your ladyship-‘

‘Oh do spare me, child. I will ask you a couple of simple questions. Do me a favour and answer with as few words as possible. Does Lord Baelish know of the wedding?’

‘No.’

‘Did Lord Baelish plan on you seducing my grandson?’

‘No.’

‘Would Lord Baelish approve of the wedding?’

‘Lord Baelish had many plans for me. This wasn’t one of them. I refused to cooperate with his plans. I was happy to just work here and be free. I swear. I even begged Willas to keep me on as a maid. I was glad to pretend to be Alayne Stone forever. It was only when he discovered who I was – and then his brothers died. So he asked me to marry and –‘

The woman raised her hand, rolling her eyes.

‘Alright, enough. I said few words. I know enough. A lot of things happened, but now is not the time to explain them all. They’ll soon open those doors to check if you haven’t fainted or bolted. Just a few more questions.’

Sansa nodded.

‘Do you love my boy?’

‘Yes, Lady Olenna.’

‘Will you tell Willas when he’s being stupid?’

Sansa blinked.

‘I-‘

‘Yes or no.’

Technically, she’d already readjusted his course several times.

‘Yes.’

‘Then why did you let him paint the roses black?’

‘I cannot answer that question with a yes or a no, Lady Olenna.’

‘Tut tut. Come now. Answer me.’

‘A woman must pick her battles. I rather kept busy with the plans for winter, the commemorative statues, the wedding and Willas’ sanity. He was allowed one dramatic act’, Sansa answered quietly.

It felt awfully bold to give her such an answer. And it showed Lady Olenna how much influence she already had on Lord Willas. Perhaps she wouldn’t like that.

‘You’ll do. We’ll deal with the consequences of the marriage tomorrow’, the Queen of Thorns concluded, hobbling towards the door.

Sansa stared at the woman, flabbergasted.

The wedding wouldn’t be stopped?

The wedding wouldn’t be stopped!

‘Well, come on girl. You should know by now not to leave your husband standing for too long.’

‘My lady – ‘

‘Are you waiting for your father to come back to life to give you away? I’ll bring you to my grandson, tradition says a family member is supposed to do it. We’re practically family, better your future grandmother than walking alone. We can bend those old dusty rules.’

‘Well, come on then you useless buffoons, open the doors we don’t have all day.’

Sansa barely had time to get to the elderly woman before the doors opened.

Lady Olenna hooked her arm through Sansa’s. She was so much smaller Sansa almost had to bend to support her.

‘Took us a year but we fixed those awful Lannister-weddings, didn’t we?’ Lady Olenna whispered conspiratorially.

Perhaps, Sansa mused, the perfect family member had returned just in time for Willas’ wedding.

The doors were opened, enveloping them in the light of the seven shining through the windows and reflecting off the crystal hanging above the septon.

The apparition of the elderly woman with her walking cane was instantly noticed and universally recognized, hushed whispers drifting up from the rows of seated witnesses.

But the old woman merely smiled sardonically as she continued her slow pace, dropping Sansa off at the altar, to Willas’ absolute astonishment. She tapped his cane with her own.

‘Couldn’t miss my own grandson’s wedding now, could I? I haven’t missed a Tyrell wedding in five decades. Now shut your mouth or you’ll catch a fly.’

With one stare the person seated closest to the couple vacated his seat for her. Now she was seated next to Ser Raymas Fossoway who was also dressed in black.

Prayers were said, songs were sung, and in the end it was the notorious Queen of Thorns who pulled Sansa’s white cloak from her shoulders and took her grandson’s cane so he had both arms free to wrap Sansa in the emerald cloak with golden flower-shaped trimmings.

They pledged their love with a chaste kiss, after which the septon declared them to be one flesh, one heart and one soul for eternity.

During the procession towards the banquet hall, all managed to keep a straight face. The hall was filled with flowers, wedding boughs and brightly coloured tapestries. The black coverings cloaking them had been removed, today was no day for mourning. Willas gave an opening speech to welcome his guests, voice regret that his brothers never saw him married, and he presented Sansa as the perfect future lady paramount. No sooner was applause given and were they seated before Willas turned towards his grandmother.

‘How did you know?’ he asked.

‘Oh give me some credit. I have my little birds. I heard gossip of you and this Stone girl for a couple of months now. I’d taken my taking travelling back before, but I decided to skip the regular breaks and visits to petty lords and ladies. Picked up this fellow at my final stop. Cider Hall,’ Olenna nodded at Raymas Fossoway.

She was in no rush to give her secrets away, so she took her time eating some spoons of roasted pumpkin and goat cheese covered in honey.

‘On the way here Fox boy here filled me in on the solstice. By then I was already ninety-five percent sure, but by the time I got here I was certain that it was little Lady Stark.’

Willas was just as lost as Sansa, neither knowing what to say or answer. All ate the autumnal vegetables and expensive meats on their plates, looking for the right words, except for Olenna, who ate with gusto.

‘Grandmother, do you mind? You didn’t stop us’, Willas asked in the end.

‘I hardly could, could I? The sensation that would cause. It would give us all the disadvantages of a marriage, since it does implicate a certain stance against the crown, without giving us any of the benefits. I’m sad you didn’t consult me, but then I do feel this was a bit rushed, and I was on the move so I couldn’t receive ravens. But that was deliberate, wasn’t it?’

Willas swallowed heavily, but did not let his grandmother crawl underneath his skin. He deliberately took some sips of his wine before turning to her with a smile.

‘Yes. But I would still like your approval. Currently I’m the sole heir of the house because of the deaths of my brothers, so the burden of procuring an heir is mine alone. There are no spares to fall back on yet. It was of the highest importance to marry and ensure the continuation of our house as soon as possible. Eligible brides are in short supply, and I happened to have one right here at my disposal, who I already loved.’

At that moment he turned towards Sansa, offering her a smile and his hand. She easily slipped her fingers between his.

‘Truth be told I didn’t expect any of you to make it here in time. Just as well. That way you couldn’t stop me, and the king – or should I say Cersei – couldn’t blame you for not stopping me either. My way of protecting my choices and your safety, if you will’, Willas smiled charmingly.

She watched him finish off his glass of Arbor gold. It was a grace that the seafood soup was carried in, then her husband would hopefully stop drinking wine to calm his nerves and start spooning in soup.

She herself would not drink more than a cup before it was her time to speech.

‘Yes, yes. Very clever. Though it hardly takes away the fact you married the key to the north, does it?’ Olenna asked.

‘Defunct key, the North has been given to Lord Bolton’, Sansa corrected.

‘Yes yes. And the throne was given to Robert Baratheon and Harrenhal was given to Lord Baelish. Let’s not be stupid. We’re in the middle of a war because conquering something or being given something never works unless you have the people on your side. I take it you heard of the uprisings and outlaws all over the riverlands? The Feast of Freys? And this small thing called the War of Five Kings? The first and the second now. Since it appears a few kings have stepped in where others have fallen. The North won’t belong to Roose Bolton.’

Sansa checked for Willas, whose eyes grew when he realized just what his grandmother was hinting at. He’d gotten news of Aegon Targaryen straight from Arianne Martell. Who had told the Queen of Thorns? But a banquet hall had many eyes and ears. They had to be careful.

‘What does it matter what the people want? They never cared for unhappy minor lords and peasants before. It was always struck down. And who would want to take the North? Whoever tries to take it is an enemy of the crown’, Sansa replied.

It was her genuine belief, but it was also a good thing to be overheard saying.

‘An enemy of the young Baratheon king, yes.’

 _Of the young Baratheon King, but not the others,_ Sansa thought.

‘We know, grandmother’, Willas smiled. ‘So you really don’t mind?’

Olenna’s sharp dark eyes connected with Sansa’s. Her stare long and unsettling. Sansa fought against the urge to avert her gaze. But this was the Queen of Thorns measuring her. A small but growing part of her brain told her that the ambitious old Lady Tyrell didn’t mind women taking up positions of power, trying to meddle, and stand their ground. She perhaps wanted another Lady Tyrell like her, and not a smiling giggling one like Leonette.

Having withstood the test, the woman looked back at her grandson.

‘Don’t worry. I’ll defend you when your father decides to throw a fit because he lost a pawn. I’m glad. It’s about time you became a player and started deciding things.’

Lady Olenna took a spoon of her soup, rolling her eyes and beckoning Left.

The ginger man came to her.

‘Tell them to play something else. I’m eating soup not riding into battle. Also, let the kitchen staff bring a lemon and milled pepper. The soup’s bland.’

Right scurried to the kitchen and left to the musicians, who suddenly found a quick way to end the song and start a gentle religious one. Lady Olenna looked as if she might drop some poison in the bard’s cup from all the way across the room. Sansa was pretty sure she could if she put her mind to it.

‘She’s also the only bride for you. Arianne’s a heir and the rest are silly, unimportant or unfit in age.’

Then Olenna turned to Sansa. Her nails dug into Willas’ hand, but she kept her face smooth.

‘When I first met her she was skittish but a proper lady who knew how to hold her tongue and fool the vipers of King’s Landing with her pious and gentle twittering’, Olenna explained as she kept Sansa’s gaze.

‘Now her ability to hold her tongue alone was enough for me, a pretty courteous wife is good enough for a lord in peacetime. But we’re at war. This child escaped Lord Baelish, and showed industriousness, cleverness and charm while here. Why would I disapprove?’

Sansa stored the compliment away. She supposed compliments of Lady Olenna Tyrell were very rare. A look at Willas’ face confirmed as much.

‘Thank you, grandmother.’

The woman threw in her hand, dismissing him and pushing her plate to the side so the waiter could add flavour to her soup.

‘Now, do indulge me. How are you two going to manage the opening dance? I take it’ll be as successful as your previous one, Lady Sansa’, Olenna asked.

Sansa paled, her and Willas’ united hands trembling. She hadn’t thought of it yet. Neither had Willas, it appeared.

‘There’s no obligation for us to dance, unlike during the Solstice. So I won’t, my lady wife is free to do as she pleases though’, Willas replied calmly, wrapping his hand tighter around Sansa’s.

She looked back at him, and he gave her a comforting smile. Just like

‘Yes I heard, very clever. Your idea or his? Yours, I take it. Should think so. Willas usually avoids trouble by locking himself up in his tower and just avoiding it. And Mace lets others do the work if he fears something. Don’t depend on them in times of crisis.’

‘I believe Willas handled the challenges he faced very well, up until now’, Sansa said.

‘The ones he can deal with from his solar’, Olenna shot back.

‘Grandmother, enough showing off. We know you’re clever. Don’t pretend you are the miraculous exception. I’m not good on the field, but neither are you since you are a woman. You aren’t good at soft diplomacy either, your tongue gets in your way. We each have our arena in which we fight best. Wasn’t it you who told me to exploit my strengths and not place myself in a weak position?’

Olenna merely smirked and drank from her wine.

Sansa ignored them. Her mind was preoccupied with repeating the speech she had prepared. Her throat constricted as her soup cooled down before her.

Between the soup and the roast meats she had to give her speech.

Her eyes flew over the room, hanging onto every face looking her way. She wondered what they thought of her, and feared they might dislike her for deceiving them. She had always wanted to be loved by her people, the thought of being hated before she even got the chance to make them love her was heart-breaking.

‘Dear people of Highgarden, thank you for celebrating this beautiful day with Lord Willas and I. We are grateful for your presence here both on this day and all others. You are the ones making Highgarden into the power it is today and every day. I feel it is our job to repay you for your hard work by being the best lord and lady we can, handling wisely and honestly. For this reason I must explain myself, because I deceived you. Know that it was not by my choice.’

She swallowed.

They were all looking at her, a quiet mass of faces. It felt just like in King’s Landing, when no one had helped her during her beatings or her wedding. Willas clutched her hand a bit more tightly to encourage her. No, these were not the same people. She had worked alongside them. They had been kind to her before. They just couldn’t react when she was speaking, they felt betrayed. That was all. Currently she was a victim in her own eyes, but not in theirs.

She felt herself starting to sweat. She’d never spoken so loud before. She hadn’t been allowed to take up this much room or talk freely. If she wanted their love, now was her chance to prove she was worthy of it by being open, vulnerable and kind.

‘I knew, the second I agreed to marry Lord Willas, that I had to come clean to you all. During my preparations I found it hard to determine where to start. I thought perhaps a good starting point was my first encounter with the Tyrells. After bravely freeing King’s Landing from King Stannis’ men, I had the pleasure of meeting Lady Olenna, Lord Mace, Queen Margaery, Lord Garlan and Ser Loras. I was alone, my family enemies of the state. My fiancé King Joffrey let the Kingsguard beat me and I had no friends. As my family died one by one the Tyrells were kind to me, and even offered me Lord Willas’ hand. I dared to hope for the future. Alas, the Lannisters caught wind of it and married me to Lord Tyrion. I only knew who I was going to marry when I was dragged into the sept, crying.’

Showing that the other Tyrells had liked her might be important. Hopefully it convinced them that she and Willas weren’t true rogues. She also hadn’t been crying, she’d been too proud to cry on her wedding day. But it was a nice addition. She laid her hand on her heart, eyes downcast. It was easier this way. And she knew holding her chin up would be seen as a sign of pride and defiance. She had to embrace her weakness, much as she had refused to let it show before.

‘Lord Tyrion was just as unhappy as me, and refused to consummate it to spite his sister and father, their feud is well known. I escaped the day of the wedding, but I can’t credit myself for my freedom. The entire escape plan was created by Lord Baelish, who took me to my aunt in the Eyrie. There I hoped for freedom and happiness, with the only free family member I had left. Even if it was under a secret identity, as Queen Cersei wanted me returned. She thought Lord Tyrion, and potentially me as his bride, were behind it.’

Jon wasn’t exactly free, as he couldn’t leave the wall.

‘That’s not the truth. Lord Baelish wanted to free me from my marriage and attempted to poison my lord husband’s pie, which King Joffrey ate, resulting in his death. We were innocent. So you see, I lived with a kingslayer, who prior to that orchestrated the murder of Lord Jon Arryn, married my aunt, and then murdered my aunt by pushing her out of the Moon Door. Every day I feared for my life, that he would turn against me as he turned against so many others.’

Lady Olenna’s eyes grew wide, and then narrowed, a thin smile brushing over her lips before it quickly disappeared. She hadn’t understood Joffrey’s horrible death at the wedding because she had arranged the slow poison. The room exploded in whispers.

_Let them know, now justice will be served. Lord Baelish has no actual dirt on the Tyrells and as Lady Tyrell, he can’t touch me._

It was very bold, much bolder than she would have felt comfortable with, but this was the only time she could put her knowledge to use. She might not get the chance to pass the information again. Now her confession appeared accidental, given only to paint the picture of a girl living in fear. It would spread from Highgarden through the Reach, finally arriving in King’s Landing and the Vale, where they would want justice and blood.

‘My stay came at an end when a knight discovered my true identity. Lord Baelish planned to have him killed, but just in case the man managed to reach the King I had to disappear for a while to a place where he knew I wouldn’t be harmed and where no one would know me. That place became Highgarden. I didn’t dare tell my true identity, I feared the only person who had protected me would spurn me if I did, meanwhile I feared the Tyrells would hand me over to the King. While here I worked alongside you. And was treated like one of you, despite being a foreigner and a bastard. Your warmth touched my heart. Even while in chains, I felt free and happy. Nobody can live in Highgarden and not come to love its beauty and its people. I have met so many people, and I hope that even now my name has changed, you can still find it in you to hold me dear the way I hold you dear.’

Sansa looked up again, forcing herself to smile.

‘In the end, of course, Lord Willas found out. But only long after the Solstice. He had a list with over five-and-twenty things that made me suspicious. Apparently, I’m a bad liar. So I’m relieved I don’t have to lie anymore.’

By giving them a little insight in their relationship she managed to comfort them that their lord had been deceived too, and that the Tyrell family hadn’t participated in the ruse. It was important to keep their trust. It also drew forth some laughter as she made her self-depreciative comment. Humbleness was a good trait.

‘I misjudged Lord Willas’ goodness. Instead of turning me over, he offered me his cloak of protection. Today we married, before Lord Baelish could get word about it. Only now I am free to speak my truth. I couldn’t before. I am forever grateful to the gods for bringing me here, where I found love, a home and a future.’

Sansa turned towards Willas.

‘The Crone knew what she was doing when she placed us on each other’s paths so long ago. No matter the detours, she managed to guide us to each other in the end. My lord husband, I determined to love you before I even knew you. And you loved me before you knew my name. I could not wish for a better husband. I hope that despite all your recent losses, I can turn your house into a home again, and fill it with joy and life.’

It was never wrong to appear romantic and innocent and wifely.

Willas winked at her.

She let out a breath of relief. It was over. She had managed to finish her speech.

Applause followed, to Sansa’s surprise. She’d expected silence and whispering.

They toasted to her and Willas. To the brave defender of innocent women, and the freed prisoner who had come to make their region bloom.

There was movement in the room.

The women she’d worked alongside with in the glass garden, young and old, came forward presenting a stained-glass art piece with flowers representing the work they’d done together.

‘For the lady who worked so tirelessly it took a piece of fallen roof to get her out of the greenhouse’, they announced.

Sansa rushed from her chair, thanking them all with grace. Would this win over those who still doubted her intentions?

Next came the women she’d sewn her dress with, this time they delivered a public gift: a beautiful necklace of jade beads with in the middle a small golden rose.

‘For the woman who was humble enough to make the largest part of her own wedding gown.’

Next, to even bigger surprise, came Lea and Neara, together with some women she barely recognized.

‘For the lady who didn’t feel too good to get her feet dirty to help our farmers make wine during the harvest’, they smiled, presenting her a box of rural wine bottles.

Sansa had to bite her lip not to laugh.

Was this normal, for her to get gifts on her own and for the guests to explain why they wanted to give her things? It was almost too much of a coincidence that they showed such readiness to embrace her and speak well of her while her reputation was still fragile.

She thanked them and they all returned to their chairs.

‘Well done girl, nice performance. So, you want Baelish dead?’ Olenna asked.

‘He’s a dangerous man’, Sansa merely said.

‘But he treated us favourably.’

‘As he did me, as long as it was within his own interest. There are few men like Lord Baelish. No one replacing him could be similar.’

‘I have often doubted the longevity of our alliance. Don’t you think we’ll need him now that this storm is coming?’ she asked subtly.

Storm’s End. Aegon.

‘Lord Robin is a dear boy.’

‘King Tommen is a dear boy. Boy’s don’t decide, regents do. Do you have an idea of the opinions of the other lords there?’

‘Of some, yes.’

‘Then we’ll discuss it sometime after the wedding’, Olenna decided.

Next came dishes of carrots stoved with onions, stuffed chicken drenched in sweet fig sauce, cauliflower orange with fragrant spices, deer in cranberry sauce, pheasant covered in orange juice, sugared chicory and pies with sweet and savoury fillings of all kinds.

It was followed by fish wrapped in cabbages, doused in saffron, baked with lemon, drowning in heavy cream, bowls of spicy dips to dunk large prawns in.

Wine jugs were carried round, and laughter floated up.

The room was entirely relaxed and unprepared when Olenna Tyrell rose and hit her glass with a knife.

‘I’ve taken up the role of an absent male family member once, might as well do it twice. My son was too eager to bed the wolf girl to await my son’s blessing. Youth’, Olenna sighed.

The room laughed and cheered.

Willas did not turn pink, or at least he didn’t above the line of his beard. He did, however, look very embarrassed despite his smile.

‘Standing as I do – though I might not look much taller than I do sitting – I want to express my joy at gaining a granddaughter. Lady Sansa is as sweet as she is beautiful. I know she attaches as much value to family, duty and honour as her lady mother. So I have no doubt she’ll be an asset to our lovely family. My Willas, I wish to congratulate you on your choice of wife. A good marriage is like a well ruled territory, in my mind. It takes time and attention, and you’ve got to put a lot of love in it… And some coin.’

Again the crowd laughed.

Sansa shook her head, but smiled nonetheless.

‘And then your wife will bloom just like the soil of your lands, bringing forth many crops. Only instead of cabbage and wheat you’ll have a Leo and a Jonquil. Willas, may the Crone give you wisdom as you rule the Reach and your wife, with a hand as just as the Father’s. Sansa, may the Mother give you all the mercy you’ll need having him for a husband together with a bunch of unruly children.’

Sansa’s cheeks burned, but Willas slung an arm around her, pulling her close to him.

He jovially smiled through it all.

Another round of applause and hands beating against the table followed while Lady Olenna sat down.

‘Touching, witty and lovely’, Willas said.

‘I can be _diplomatic_ , contrary to what you think.’

‘I thought you disapproved of a husband fully ruling a wife?’ Sansa asked gently, some time later.

The old woman’s eyes were soft now. Mellowed by emotion or wine, it was honestly a toss.

‘And I also admire your mind a great deal more than your sweetness, but men fear powerful clever women. Being a smart woman is sometimes about letting men believe what they want to believe, while in the meantime doing your own thing quietly.’

Of course. She had even applied that technique to Joffrey, saying what he wanted her to say while believing differently.

‘I hope I don’t need to do that.’

‘I hope the same for you, girl. Luckily he’s a lot more like his mother and grandfather.’

There was a lull in the serving of dishes, all the tables were cleared and tea and fruit were carried in. Big painted screens were rolled in and dozens of players entered in clothing of the era of Aegon the Fifth.

They performed the story of the Prince of Dragonflies and Jenny of Oldstones, divided in a romantic first act, a suspenseful second act, and a dramatic third act relating the events of the Tragedy at Summerhall.

As the first sets were rolled away a wraith-like woman on bare feet with red curls performed a haunting rendition of Jenny’s song, her voice so powerful it filled up the entire hall. 

The second play was even darker, though a clever choice. It was a heroic retelling of the Battle of Oldtown, with Loras and Garlan, Lord Leyton and Lord Paxter as shining heroes, defeating men dressed like ridiculous octopuses, scantily clad raiders, and a ridiculous version of Euron Greyjoy with ease and bravery. Tragically the brothers died in each other’s arms after fighting their last foe together.

The room was stunned, silence seeping into the walls, until the third play was brought. It was a tragic comedy about Garth the Tenth. In his senile days, a mad speaking and oddly dressed Garth called forth his daughters and their husbands, declaring they had to show their love for him, promising his oaken seat to the most doting daughter. The daughters gave extravagantly ridiculous displays of affections.

The king went completely mad and furious once it became clear that despite showy displays, his daughters held no true love for him. In the second act ridiculous betrayals, unlikely conspiracies and elaborate murders took place, escalating into an open war. All this was witnessed by Osmund Tyrell, who cunningly started visiting all lords of the Reach, introducing the foreign concept called “Peace”, uniting the Reach against the warring daughters of King Garth.

In the third act the very tongue-in-cheek fourth-wall-breaking Ser Osmund explained how he got Mern the Sixth on the throne, and keeping a very close eye on the simple man, encouraging his son and grandson to do the same, until finally the hand of King Mern’s daughter was given to Robert Tyrell, finally introducing brains into the family.

The whole court was laughing again by the time the last savoury course was brought in. Sansa and Willas engaged in light conversation with everyone at their table, and all who came up towards it, their hands barely ever letting go of each other.

Lady Olenna hobbled away, going over to other tables to talk, cleverly staying away from the sweet courses that would only further increase her tooth rot. The cake was announced and Sansa and Willas went outside so that the birds would be able to escape instead of die stuck inside some forgotten corner of the castle. Happy and tipsy wedding guests followed, cheering loudly as Willas accepted his sword.

If she ever was in any doubt about his dormant skills, she was no longer in doubt when he swung the sword with a lot of show, tossing and catching it with ease until the crowd cried in fear and delight. His blow to the cake was soft though, mindful of the living creatures inside. Nightingales erupted from the cake, chirping as they stretched their wings.

 _Goodbye, sweet songbirds. Now we’re all free,_ Sansa thought as she leant into Willas, who wrapped his arm around her.

By the time they returned the musicians had started playing cheerful music pieces to get the guests moving. She was happy to stay with her husband, watching all the merriment.

This was where it always went wrong the past year, so they made sure that by installing guards, food-tasters and keeping the doors open all the time, no disaster could strike.

However unlike in King’s Landing, she was not disliked. Nor did anyone fear to approach her. So knight after knight, and lord after lord came by to ask for a dance. With a trusting husband, and no desire to insult his bannermen, she easily accepted.

She was swung through the room, hopped in every line-dance, and was part of every dance circle for over an hour.

In the end she was holding Amaryllis’ hands, turning at an increasing speed until they were going so fast that if they let loose they’d fly to opposing sides of the hall.

‘It was your idea, wasn’t it?’ Sansa asked.

‘Me? Why, I’m but a simple lady-in-waiting.’

‘Thank you.’

‘I thought you could use some positive image-building today, and they all agreed as soon as I suggested it. I said you had friends here.’

‘I know.’

After their dance, Amaryllis returned to Garther, and another lord took Sansa’s hands.

It was long since dark outside by the time she dropped herself in the chair beside her husband, face red and skin hot.

‘Perhaps we should encourage the people to dance every evening, one can’t tell winter from summer if one is hot from dancing.’

‘A dance feast every day it is’, Willas smirked, welcoming his bride with a chaste kiss that left her wanting. ‘In the meantime I’ll look whether it’s possible to install a space for hot stones in my rolling chairs.’

‘Oh Willas.’

‘It’s no issue for me. Dance, please. It’s already bad enough I can’t. I rather wish I could, the cold is awful for my muscles.’

‘Perhaps as your dutiful wife, I should help and massage the soreness out of them every night.’

‘Sounds very tempting. I’ll take you up on that one.’

‘You two are worse than Garlan and Leonette’, Olenna huffed.

Sansa’s cheeks burned. When had the Queen of Thorns returned to the table? She hadn’t noticed her behind Willas’ frame.

‘Excuse me, my teeth are rotting’, she announced before standing up and moving away with her cup of sour wine.

Willas’ Adam’s apple rose as he swallowed. But no sooner was she off of the platform before they erupted in giggles.

Sansa barely remembered a time when she’d had such fun. Her cheeks hurt from smiling, and the laughter felt odd but good in her chest. She felt tired yet sated in the best way possible as she melted against him, her head on his shoulder as they watched wine-carriers stumble as lords snatched them mid-walk, ladies blush as knights offered their hands, and clumsy lordlings slip on the dancefloor.

She never would have seen this in Winterfell, feasts were cheery but not like this. It reminded her of the first summer days she’d spent in King’s Landing, when she’d still been naively filled with hopes and dreams. But after the Tourney of the Hand everything had quickly lost its lustre.

She could get used to this. It was sad that with winter making the world colder each day, these kinds of festivities would grow few and far in between.

‘We might be fit to rule during winter, as your grandmother said. But I do so enjoy this.’

‘I wish I could give you the kind of decadence we’re known for. But we wouldn’t be able to enjoy it, knowing it comes at the price of risking our rations and people.’

‘I know’, Sansa sighed.

‘Luckily there’s nothing wrong with falling asleep together while reading books.’

‘Definitely. And by the time winter is over, I’ll be the better cyvasse player.’

‘Oh, you wish!’

‘What? I’ll have tons of practice.’

‘You forget that each time you play, I play as well. And who between us called themselves a slow learner?’

‘Oh that’s cruel! Don’t use my words against me.’

Willas only smiled and pressed his lips against her.

‘That won’t work?’

‘Won’t it? Should try again then. I know that technique usually works with you.’

He pressed his lips against hers again, burying his hands in her long hair.

‘You look good in a crown.’

‘Won’t it be considered a slight against the crown?’

‘Then they’ll have to pick a bone with every Tyrell bride ever. Let them come, I still have my army.’

‘You are very arrogant, my lord.’

‘Afraid it runs in the family. Perhaps your blood will dilute it.’

‘Oh I certainly hope so. Your grandmother will smother the babe if it’s another oaf’, Sansa giggled against his lips.

‘I don’t doubt her.’

Another kiss.

His whiskers curled into her nose and she drew back, tickled, rubbing her face to get the odd sensation away.

Willas laughed and sought her out again.

Perhaps had they paid more attention to the hall than each other, they would have noticed the amount of elbowing and nodding that was taking place, or the people moving towards the musicians, whispering song suggestions in their ears.

But as it was, they jumped apart in shock when they heard the first note of “The Queen Took Off Her Sandal, The King Took Off His Crown”, the song instantly recognized.

‘Already?’ Sansa mouthed voicelessly.

Her heart raced against her chest, her eyes flying to the room to verify that yes indeed, the bedding song had begun.

‘It’s past ten. Early, but not too early. They’re impatient, clearly’, Willas muttered.

Sansa’s face crumbled.

They kept replaying the first few seconds of the song.

She didn’t feel ready. She never would be ready.

‘I can still stop it, if you really don’t want to.’

‘I must. It’s tradition. I must give them some things first, so they like me.’

‘You don’t owe them anything, you’re their lady.’

‘A wedding needs a bedding. Let’s just get on with it.’

She grinded her teeth and raised her chin. She’d been subject to much worse. She could survive it. She _would_. Just five minutes of misery for a lifetime of being with her husband.

Willas nodded and turned towards his people.

‘Alright, alright!’ Willas shouted.

The musicians stopped and the people cheered.

‘First some rules, which as the lord of this party I can do’, Willas laughed. A wave of faint protest rose.

‘Unmarried men: hands off my wife. And everyone who touches her privates gets his hand chopped off, alright? Ladies: I need my cane unless you’re willing to carry me. And don’t pull my feet from under me. I want to be useful on my wedding night, yes? Alright, time for the bedding ceremony.’

It was all he could do for her now.

The band picked up the song, the people uninterested in the bedding staying seated and slamming the tables loudly, singing along as cups tumbled and plates shook.

Her heart beat in harmony with the clapping.

_“Off her dress goes, lost in passionate throes.”_

‘Raymas, make sure they behave’, Willas ordered his friend. The Fossoway knight nodded and stood, offering Sansa a hand.

‘It’ll be over soon, my lady.’

‘You’re very kind’, she managed to get out before over twenty men stormed the stage, picking her up with united strength and carrying her off.

Raymas had to run to keep up.

She twisted in their hands, cheeks burning as she felt her skirts fall open between where she was held. She was forever grateful for the smallclothes that shielded her.

In the distance she could see a couple dozen ladies flock around Willas. They had cleverly decided on divesting him of his clothes first, before making him walk.

_Poor Willas, he’ll be naked in front of his entire court. Imagine trying to look imposing and austere afterwards._

But before she could see a single clothing piece removed, she was dragged into the hallway on world’s most unevenly treading horse.

Her shoe dropped to the flour.

‘The queen took off her shoe!’ cried one, while the other was already singing about how she lost her slip.

Yet, over their shouting, singing, jesting and laughing she could hear her second shoe clatter down the stairs, the drums and clapping still audible.

‘Is her curtain auburn down there as well?’ questioned a man.

_Even if you saw, you’d never know, stupid man._

A hand slid under her skirts.

‘Watch it, don’t think I won’t give Lord Willas your name Blackcurrant!’ Ser Raymas threatened.

The hand fell away and Sansa let out a sigh of relief.

The trip was not without adventure, somewhere along the stairs, a couple of drunk carriers stumbled. Sansa almost dropped twice, and actually hit the ground once. With her feet, luckily, as her arms were still held.

‘Blasted dress.’

The sleeves tore a bit before it was opened at the back. The sleeves tore some more as they were pulled down and she was pulled out of her dress.

‘What in seven hells is that contraption?’

‘Who put her in _stays_! Nobody’s worn those in _ten_ years!’

‘Damn backward Northerners.’

‘Hey lass, no need to hide a body as pretty as yours.’

‘Anyone got a knife?’

‘Yeah, I anticipated the lady’d be wearing stays and snuck out a knife in anticipation.’

‘Really?’

‘No, you dimwit!’

She was dropped, in Willas’ rooms with her stays on, her smallclothes also still on thanks to Ser Raymas’ severe gaze and judgement that to take those off would count as touching privates.

‘Have fun.’

‘Remember to spread your legs.’

‘And if he’s lame, just mount him like a horse!’

‘Would he know as much about breeding with a lass as he does horse breeding?’

‘Let’s hope for her he does, ha!’

Sansa closed off her ears mentally, staggering to the bed.

Her balance was still off from being carried. She could still feel their hands.

Ser Raymas pushed the men outside as she drew the curtains closed around her. She had no interest in seeing Willas’ sleeping quarters, she just wanted to be safe and covered.

‘Everything alright, my lady? Can I get you anything.’

‘I’m fine, thank you ser’, she answered from behind the sapphire curtains.

The door closed again.

She could still hear rowdy voices behind the door, but they weren’t understandable.

Her breathing calmed again, her heartrate falling back into its usual pattern.

Seconds ticked by. Her eyes now picked up things in the darkness.

The sheets were fresh. Blue, purple and white, covered with lavender and rose petals. No sign of the Tyrell colours that filled up all public spaces. It piqued her curiosity. Recovered from the mortification, she wanted to explore the inner sanctum of her husband.

She pulled aside the curtains. She’d never gone beyond the reception room of his chambers.

The room was octangular, the blue walls separated by eight marble pillars decorated with golden vines that crept towards the vaulted ceiling shaped by stone beams painted gold. The ceiling was painted like the sky. By now she should be used to the opulence of Highgarden, but she’d never seen a bedroom this fancy.

She tiptoed towards the curtains, moving them aside. The faint moonlight allowed her to locate in which tower his bedroom was situated. He had a perfect outlook on who came riding into the castle.

Her perusing was interrupted by the sound of a creaking door followed by a lot of giggling.

She raced back towards the bed, jumping between the curtains just in time.

‘Remember the nub!’

‘Remember the –‘

‘Yes yes, ladies. Thanks for the kind advice’, Willas sighed.

He sounded strained, Sansa noticed.

‘Would you please leave my chambers?’

‘But the men are still waiting outside!’

‘Then take them downstairs with you. We know what to do.’

‘Does she?!’ a woman cried.

‘She knows her duty, of course. Every woman does’, Willas answered diplomatically.

Next she heard a door slamming shut.

‘Buggering hells.’

She could hear him sighing.

Then shuffling around, his cane almost inaudible on the carpet. Was that the rustle of fabric she heard?

She did know what the rushing sound was she heard next. It was liquid pouring into a glass.

It really was her first wedding all over again. All awkwardness and unwillingness, with a man going straight to the wine decanter.

_No no, we are only opposed to the bedding ceremony. We want this marriage. Awkwardness is only natural as we are not used to each other and there is a lot of pressure tonight._

‘Sansa?’

‘I’m here.’

‘Are you hiding from me?’ a voice torn between amusement and injury asked.

‘Not you.’

She peeped between the curtains. He’d wrapped a golden gown around himself and was now looking at her from near the fireplace, a smirk on his face.

‘Now you are. The others are gone.’

‘Well, more of you is covered than of me.’

‘Would you like for me to take it off?’

The last man she’d seen nude was Tyrion.

‘Rather not yet’, she admitted as she slipped from between the curtains. A naked man holding wine was a straight repeat of her previous wedding, she wanted the two to have as few overlaps as possible.

‘Ah, and here I was thinking my wife was undressed.’

‘Amaryllis rightly guessed they wouldn’t manage to open my stays when drunk.’

‘I think I remember my mother wearing one of them in my youth. But I don’t think my sister ever wore one.’

‘They wouldn’t fit with the cut-outs she wears. And they’re quite warm, too warm for a Highgarden summer.’

‘Yes. Very cunning. A glass of wine to calm the nerves?’

‘A little.’

Willas poured her a cup and sat down in a plush comfortable looking chair.

‘Your rooms are blue.’

‘This one is, my others are mostly wood and tapestry. One does get tired of the same old colours everywhere. A hundred colours in the world and my entire world is supposed to exist of green and gold? How boring.’

‘But to express a love for other colours outside your private chambers…’

‘Would be unfitting, yes. You like blue, don’t you?’

‘I do.’

A silence fell over them. She didn’t know where to sit. In the second chair far away? On his lap? On the armrest of his chair?

She took a sip of her wine to keep busy. It was a soft one with a fruity flavour and no sharpness.

‘Was the bedding ceremony alright?’

‘Am I not supposed to be the one asking that?’ Willas questioned.

‘Well I am still a bit dressed, while I assume you put that on because you aren’t. And you have the bad leg.’

He smiled, nodding as he stretched his bad leg. Holding his hand on the damask fabric covering his knee.

‘Fair. I did stumble on the stairs. And was touched a bit more than was desirable. Something silly about wanting to get me ready for the act’, he explained as he rolled his eyes.

Sansa did not understand, but nodded sagely. His eyes slid to her, smiling and soft.

‘I’m glad you’re alright.’

‘Ser Raymas was a true knight, protecting me from men with unhonourable intentions.’

‘I should make him my second, once the household is officially mine.’

‘Good, and Amaryllis will be my first lady-in-waiting.’

‘We still have some twenty odd years to go and we already have a waiting list for the staff’, Willas smiled.

Sansa nodded, her eyes trailing to his legs.

‘Do you want me to massage them, if they’re sore?’

‘Do you know how?’

‘It can’t be that difficult, can it?’ she asked as she sat down, putting her glass on the small table beside the chair.

‘Allow me to woo you instead, tonight.’

‘I don’t need a massage.’

‘Your shoulders have been tense for the most part of the day. Turn around.’

She did.

‘Shall I untie your stays?’

‘Many men have tried, all have failed.’

‘Ah, but I’m not most men. I’m patient.’

‘No you’re not.’

‘Patient for you’, he smiled, pressing another kiss against her lips.

‘Turn around.’

His hands were steady as they untied the double knot. He used his nails on the ribbon that was tied so tightly no man in his cups could get it loose.

‘See, patience’, Willas said.

The fire overheated the exposed skin of Sansa’s legs, and she drank some more to cool her temperature.

Had Willas’ voice always sounded that low and alluring? Yes it had. But right now it had a noticeable physical effect on her.

His hands were large and heavy on her waist, fingers slowly pulling apart the two sides of her stays piece by piece.

The silence made her shift.

‘I’m so relieved your grandmother let the marriage happen. When I saw her this morning, I really thought the wedding was off for a second.’

‘I should have known Olenna Tyrell would find out and get here in time. I’m glad as well.’

‘And she knows about Aegon.’

‘Yes, I got that hunch as well.’

‘I don’t want to sit down with her yet.’

‘Yes, she needs to be enjoyed in small doses.’

‘I would like some days alone with you first. You’ve been nothing but busy the past few weeks. Almost too busy to mourn or make time for yourself.’

‘As a newly married couple, we’re supposed to spend some days alone together, aren’t we? My grandmother isn’t a big lover of tradition, but surely she will accept that as a lord I have to keep to customs and traditions.’

‘Before we entered the sept she asked whether I would advise you and tell you no if you had a bad idea.’

His hands fell onto her shoulders, kneading the stiff muscle until it melted underneath the heat of his loving touch.

‘And what did you answer?’

‘Yes.’

‘Excellent. So if I keep my wife very contented in my bedroom, she will request I stay with her in bed instead of see my grandmother. Giving me a perfect excuse to avoid my duties.’

‘If’, Sansa teased.

‘I don’t think you’ll be able to doubt it for a very long time’, he rasped. His face was one her shoulder now, lips against her neck.

‘I’m finished.’

His voice was very low and quiet. It made her belly jump.

‘Raise your hands.’

A part of her had always bristled at his commanding tone, but now it made her heart jump.

Could she even do anything but listen? She forgot she had a mind of her own and instantly raised her hands. His hands pulled, fingers dragging over her sides as he lifted the piece of clothing, careful to keep her crown on her head.

His hands went down again, curling around her sides before trailing up, stroking her breasts.

It was the oddest sensation, ticklish but nice at the same time.

His fingers ghosted over the fabric, searching, until…

‘Oh.’

‘Yes, that’s what I thought.’

His hands moved up and down her sides, his thumbs massaging her back and his fingers teasing her front.

‘Have you done this before?’ Sansa finally asked, giving into the question that she’d asked herself a hundred times.

‘Yes.’

‘I thought you hadn’t a lot of experience’, Sansa stammered, as his hands cupped her breasts.

‘Y-you said you only kissed ten girls.’

‘I don’t have a lot of it. I only slept with two people, a girl here during a small tourney when I was still a very green boy, and someone in Dorne. But they were both around for a couple of months. Afterwards, I could never bring myself to be with someone anymore.’

As he picked up his cup, the fabric of his gown fell open, revealing a gnarly mass of white and red scars from halfway up his calf and up as far as her eyes could see. Before she’d given it a thought, her hand was upon his leg.

Willas’ eyes flew towards her and away again, as if he couldn’t bear the physical reminder. The skin was pulled taut, smooth yet uneven in thickness and texture. Like his leg had been cut open again and again. Scars stacked upon scars. Some even looked like scars from…

‘It looks like a burn wound Arya got when she spilled a really hot casserole in the kitchens on her leg.’

‘They poured boiling water and alcohol with herbs over it to stave off infection.’

‘And these are cuts.’

‘To drain liquid and blood’, Willas explained. She knew by his voice he didn’t enjoy the topic.

‘And there seem to be… dents?’

‘Skin and flesh were cut away, it turned necrotic. Please, Sansa.’

He pushed her hands away, putting the fabric over it again.

‘It’s ugly. Could you start with the prettier parts of me?’

‘You have no idea of the kinds of scars I’ve seen. But I’ll heed my husband’s suggestion. Where would you want me to look, my lord?’

Willas was not prepared for that answer.

‘Somewhere in my youth or childhood, I must’ve done something very good to deserve you.’

He bent forward, a hand reaching out to her.

Sansa quickly got on her knees and bent towards him, meeting his lips in a kiss.

‘Care to sit on my lap? My good leg only, if you please.’

Her thighs clenched when she sat down on his leg as if they knew they were heading towards dangerous territory.

A line about the body preparing itself for the lovemaking crossed her mind and was discarded again.

Willas cupped her cheek, pulling her in for another kiss. Slow and languid. It left her wanting for breath as he withdrew.

‘May I remove your chemise?’

She nodded quickly.

She shouldn’t be ashamed. The bedding happened without clothes. He had a right to her body. Yet she still felt very nervous and insecure as he lifted the pink slip of fabric.

His gaze swept over her form, perched on his lap, before coming back to her eyes.

His smile was shy now.

‘You’re really beautiful.’

‘Even by comparison?’

‘You’re one of the most renowned beauties of the Seven Kingdoms. They don’t hold a candle to you. Not that it matters, you’re my wife and I want to bed you for a lot more than your beauty.’

She struggled to hold his gaze. It was too intense. Casting her eyes down, they fell onto his gown.

‘You are still covered’, she said to change the topic.

Willas shrugged and slipped his arms out of his gown, exposing his torso.

_So not Tyrion._

His chest was broad, shoulders wired with muscle.

There were some old scars on his chest from his squiring days spent fighting, and on his arms were faint white lines of what she assumed where claws of hawks, and there was one scar of a horse bite on his shoulder.

But overall…

Her fingers traced over the dark hair on his chest. His heart was very active as well.

The fire in the hearth crackled and flickered. In the firelight his chest looked golden and his beard glimmering copper.

A golden rose with fire burning in his eyes.

She sought out his lips with her own, arms wrapping around his neck. His hands pressed her closer and closer until their chests touched.

They let out a sigh of relief. It felt so right to be held so close.

Nobody had held them this close since they were babes, and nothing substituted the feeling of being protected and cherished.

Willas shifted in the chair.

‘Perhaps we could… Move to the bed? We don’t have to do anything yet.’

They laid down, closing themselves off to the outside world. They wriggled, twisted and turned. Contorting their bodies until they both found comfortable ways to be wrapped around each other’s body in embrace.

For the longest time they didn’t do anything, simply feeling up and down each other’s body. Revelling in the feel of a pure embrace unhindered by clothes. She drank in his scent, losing herself in his embrace until she felt less like a maid violating social rules and more like a cherished wife. She couldn’t compare the happiness and contentment she felt to any other sensation she experienced before.

They felt so peaceful and at rest, they instantly fell asleep.

Awakening hours later disoriented, they found each other with a smile. The pressure had gone together with the guests who’d given up on hearing something on the other side of the door. Bodies and minds still tired and relaxed from sleep, their touches weren’t accompanied by awkwardness and overthinking.

Nobody heard Sansa’s moans and howls. But they were there, and they were music to Willas’ ears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some expected it, some wished for it. I think I dropped enough "Olenna's moving home" comments throughout the chapters to make it possible. My interpretation of Olenna is 100% based on Dame Diana Riggs awesome performance, may she rest in peace.
> 
> The ancient and medieval version of depilatory cream is rhusma turcorum. The mixture consists of (quick)lime and orpiment, which was already known in antiquity and is still in use in regions of India today. I put this part in because quite frankly, wars in Europe always lead to an increase in STD's brought home from the front. It would make sense in the world of Westeros which has seen two wars in less than 17 years, with such a lively prostitution business, that new husbands aren't trusted to come to their wedding bed clean. Meagre form of protection, but I thought it was a fun thing to put in.
> 
> In the second chapter I referenced a Florianne Fossoway who was close to Lady Alerie, and I referenced her again during the Solstice. I intended for her to be Leonette’s mother, showing how entwined the families were. Ser Raymas, who fills the role of Leonette’s brother in this fic, is also a friend of Willas. In my head Lady Fossoway went home together with Raymas after the Solstice to prepare Cider Hall for winter. After sending away his “Young Lords” council Willas became even more lonely in the evenings, leading to him getting even closer to Sansa, so that's why Ser Raymas went MIA for some chapters. Now he's back because of Olenna, but obviously Lady Fossoway is in mourning for her son-in-law and awaiting the return of her daughter. So she hasn't tagged along.
> 
> The singer of Jenny’s song is a nod towards Florence Welch who made a version of "Jenny of Oldstones" with her band.
> 
> The play about King Garth X was based on King Lear.
> 
> I doubted for a long time about how explicit I'd go, but I decided it didn't fit in with the overall mood of the chapter. The characters also weren't speaking to me, my awkward beans, I think they wanted to be left alone during their wedding night.
> 
> This story has been very plot-heavy until now. I feel it's impossible to not have a plot since they're so connected to Westerosi politics, but I really want to spend a couple of chapters just exploring them, and reduce the plot heaviness a bit. Let's see, shall we?
> 
> Have a nice Sunday.


	22. The Storms Ahead

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back!  
> I took an entirely unexpected and indeliberate break due to my thesis, general life, other writing projects, a bit of a writer’s block with this story. Then there was the US elections that crippled me with anxiety (not from the USA but still). Our country has gone into lockdown again (ffs why are our world records longest time without government and covid numbers), but at present my family is safe. I hope you and yours are safe as well. May you all stay employed, stay healthy and as mentally healthy as possible.

The wind whispered past the window the morning after the wedding, sending brown leaves tapping against the window, awakening Sansa first.

It was the first time since she’d fallen asleep entangled with Jeyne Poole after the imprisonment of all Northerners in Kings Landing that she woke up to the feel of a warm body beside her.

It made her feel vulnerable in a foreign way. Not in the way Joffrey had made her feel so while humiliating her, which had made her uncomfortable and hurt. Not in the way she’d felt vulnerable while sharing rooms with Tyrion which had made her feel annoyed and invaded. Nor in the way she’d felt knowing she was stuck with Baelish which had made her feel powerless.

Instead she wanted to be admired by the man beside her, her heart was invested in him in a way it wasn’t in the opinion of others and it made her feel naked in front of him.

Luckily though, he was asleep and she was allowed some time to calm her heartbeat. She delicately brought up her hands to her eyes, careful to not disturb the blankets or touch Willas, and rubbed the sleep from her eyes.

Asleep with all worry and guardedness wiped off, his face looked as open and inviting as Garlan’s once had. They had fallen asleep together before, but she’d never had the luxury to really observe him from a comfortable position. In the grey morning light she took in the features that were already dear to her, and found new things she was amazed she didn’t notice before.

At some point Willas, who slept laying like a log of wood, must have turned his head, and the side of his face above his beard was impressed with the creases of the blankets. Sprigs of lavender had gotten caught in his hair – and in her own as well she noticed after checking – but she also noticed something about the colour. Inching closer she lifted and bowed her head until she had observed it from every angle. But there was no doubt about it. Her husband, at six-and-twenty, had at least ten grey hairs on the right side of his head, and two white ones nestled between his beard.

_My poor babe._

She bit away a smile.

She fell back into the pillow.

She felt married.

She felt safe.

She felt calm.

And actually hopeful and happy for once. It was astonishing just how much her life had changed in three moon turns.

In the end she couldn’t hold the itch anymore, and reached out to pluck a bit of lavender from Willas’ hair. She tossed the sprig away, but his body called her again, and her fingers quickly returned to his hairs, softly stroking it. In his sleep he ever so slightly inclined his head towards her hand, a soft hum bubbling up from his throat. It was all the encouragement she needed to continue softly massaging his scalp.

His murky eyes blinked open with great struggle.

Her hand stilled as he came alive, rubbing his eyes just like she had done not long ago.

‘Good morning.’

‘Morning, my lord.’

‘My lady wife. How does this morning find you?’ he asked as he traced his hand across her cheek.

‘Alright’, she answered by instinct. ‘A little sore, but fine’, she added.

Willas smiled, lips contorting as he stretched.

‘That makes two of us’, he concluded. ‘You had a good rest?’

‘Excellent. Did you?’

Willas nodded, his eyes falling closed again as she curled around him.

‘It feels so good to sleep next to someone.’

Sansa nodded, thinking back on when she and Jeyne sometimes slept in a big bed together, giggling for hours before they fell asleep. She wondered who Willas had slept next to.

‘And to wake up next to you’, Sansa said softly.

‘I like seeing your face when I wake up. The last fifteen years I woke up to servants informing me on the bad news arriving between when I went to bed and woke up’, Willas shared with a discontent smile.

His eyes misted over as he looked at the expensive blue sky of their bed, embroidered with constellations.

‘It was like… for just some hours, the world fell away. And there was nothing but you and me. And what we wanted to talk about and do. Only pleasant things. You know, between arriving in my room and waking up now… I didn’t think about Garlan and Loras even once.’

The raging wind shook the windows. The warmth was sucked out of the room. Willas had turned into a statue. His head turned sideways, towards the window. It was amazing how such a small gesture felt like he’d put miles between them.

She wished grief didn’t have the nasty habit of sneaking into every little moment of joy. They were having a moment. He was sharing his feelings and she could get drunk on his openness, but now she was left thirsty and dissatisfied. She reached out, trying to break through the sadness in a non-disruptive manner.

‘What made you think of them?’

‘I don’t know. As I heard the wind I suddenly thought how Leonette was travelling through that dreary weather in her condition.’

Sansa shot him a comforting smile as she laid her hand upon his chest.

‘And how I get to have this, while she doesn’t anymore. She never was with him for more than four months in a row, duty always came first. The _realm_ came first’, he corrected himself, spitting out the words.

Leonette had always struck Sansa as one of those rare privileged always happy girls, who smiled because they didn’t know what sadness was. Grief had always made Sansa silent. She’d gotten so many words of condolence devoid of sincerity they had become empty and meaningless. She should know how to be there for someone who grieved. But words felt silly.

It turned out just being was the answer. Another rumbling gust of wind wheezing past their window shook him out of it. Blinking a couple times, his eyes cleared up as he turned his head towards her.

She lifted her head, eyes quietly asking what he needed. He needed oblivion. Another body to hide in until the wave of grief ebbed away again.

Willas reached out, closing the curtains around the bed to lock it out together with the daylight.

The shiver inducing distance between their bodies was removed so that all touched: noses, lips and chest. He lifted her on top of her, Sansa quickly sliding her leg over his hip so she would avoid his bad knee.

The fear of further loss lingered like a ghost.

His arms pressed her against him until the coldness around his heart melted, the loss ebbing away.

‘Sansa.’

Her name sounded so lovely in his southron accent.

She kissed him amidst the rose petals until her breath was running out and her blood ran hot.

‘Could you turn like last night?’ he asked.

After she obliged, laying her body on his with her chest towards the ceiling, his eyes hid in her neck, his lips found a home in her shoulder, his one hand found purchase on her breast and his other one made the trip all the way south.

The temperature increased between the curtains, their coupling leaving no room for intrusive thoughts.

By the time the curtains were pulled open again, trays of breakfast had appeared on a small table borrowed from his sitting room. Not a servant in sight. Which only made Sansa’s embarrassment worse.

‘They had to hear something. At least they can talk about the marriage being consummated now’, Willas laughed.

Sansa only dragged the sheets over her face.

‘We were lucky with our sunny day yesterday’, Sansa noticed as rain started patting down the window.

They were seated for breakfast now, both dressed in the fine nightgowns and chamber robes that had been put out the night before.

‘Very much so. The amount of rain is worrying, I must admit.’

‘Most crops out on the fields now can stand the rain, can’t they?’

‘Yes. But a lot of rainfall is how our winters begin. And since the temperatures keep on dropping…’

‘Rain might turn into snow’, Sansa understood.

Willas nodded, putting his boiled egg between his bread.

‘And a lot of rain means a lot of snow. Usually the rain stops and then it starts getting colder until it freezes. And then it starts intermediating between dry weather, hail, rain and snow. Least of the latter, luckily.’

‘Queer. We don’t have a lot of rain up North. But we do have a lot of snow.’

Willas swallowed the bread away with some tea that had by then gone cold.

‘I would pay a ridiculous amount of money for the maester that can give a rational explanation for our weather system. It’s ludicrous. Everything in this world adheres to certain patterns and rules. The growth cycle of plants, the life circle of animals and men. Physics. Except the weather. It’s almost like it’s magic.’

Willas was decidedly, in all his very much mature maleness, adorable when he was angry and annoyed. It was almost as if he saw it as a personal slight when a thing decided to be incomprehensible. He was so used to making sense of everything. She covered her smile with a cup of tea.

‘People say it was normal once. Perhaps it is magic’, Sansa reasoned.

‘But why? Why would anyone disrupt a perfectly functioning world? I used to believe that it was impossible. But after the business in Oldtown, all’s of the charts. But it still begs the question.’

‘If the maesters haven’t been able to solve it in centuries, we won’t solve it over breakfast.’

‘An astute observation.’

Silence spread between them as they resumed breakfast.

Sansa’s heart thumped with nervousness.

Yesterday had completely altered their relationship. New things were allowed, walls had crumbled, and secrets and privacy were a thing of the past. But it seemed as though the discovery of a new field of interaction had put into question all the previous circumstances under which they were together.

In another private moment just an hour earlier, they had lain and looked upon another nude. And knowing that too was now in the range of possible interactions, now laced their interactions with uncertainty. She had to relearn how to navigate their time together.

Things were different for her on a personal level too. Before, she had lived in constant fear. She could never take their relationship or even her life for granted. Pleasant as certain moments were, every day she finished without the Tyrell and Lannister family or Lord Baelish coming to get her was a blessed one. Now she was relatively safe.

She didn’t have to do or say anything to please anymore. Years of holding her tongue and twisting her words because she was completely dependant on the mercy of others had come to an end. Even with Willas she had been incredibly careful until he told her he knew her secret.

She looked up again, observing him in his pale gold gown, dark waves frizzy from sleep, his face a good deal paler than it had been when she first met him. As the sun had started hiding, the Highgarden people’s colour had started draining away, tan lines on cleavages and arms an echo of sunnier days.

Behind him through the windows the sky was a bruised grey, cold flashes of light appearing followed by a bored rumbling.

He clashed with winter, all warm hues against a backdrop of ice.

A crease appeared around his brow, and she followed his eyes to find the culprit. His bread had torn there where he’d been smearing it.

Her fingers trembled, muscles flexing with impatience.

She wanted to touch him, something she would have done in a heartbeat no hour earlier. But kisses and touches had always been in the evening, in front of a fireplace, or tucked away in a dark corner of a theatre or tomb. And after yesterday: their bedchamber. Could she now?

She knew Garlan had been touching his wife all the time, holding her arm, supporting her back, she leaning her head on him, stealing kisses in front of the whole room. But he was not Willas.

She knew, pragmatic as he was, that he would tell her to just ask her questions and speak her mind if he knew of her thoughts. But she still felt awkward to be so open about her inner thoughts. Less than two weeks had she been able to be honest about her name to him. She felt as if she knew him deeply, no matter her name, but there was so much they didn’t know about each other or their relationship yet.

In a way their relationship had grown like a rose bush. The bush had grown for a long time. And regularly grown a thorn here or there. But the rose had only just appeared, and there were many petals yet invisible.

‘You really have taken winter down South with you, haven’t you?’ Willas asked after a particularly vicious wave of thunder rolled over the country and made the windows rattle.

‘Apparently.’

‘You know, I have a particular interest in etymology. Most names are boring and straightforward. The Red Keep, High Garden, High Tower, the Twins. Some are a bit less straightforward but fairly obvious: Acorn Hall and Sunspear are a reference to the shields of the houses. Harren’s Hall, so on. But yours is Winterfell.’

The name of her home struck a chord deep inside her body. His tong curled beautifully around the last part of her homename. Everyone always talked about it coldly, like they were talking about a sack of gold instead of a home filled with people.

‘Given we have the ‘Land of Always Winter’ we cannot assume winter falls there first. Because it’s already somewhere else far North. There are no houses named after mottos, so it probably doesn’t allude to your house words. There was no famous King Winter Stark. Nor is it a name meant to daunt people like Dreadfort. So where does it come from?’

The question struck Sansa out of the blue.

Winterfell had always just been Winterfell. She’d never questioned it. She’d been a child, and not particularly inquisitive.

‘I’m afraid I never learned that.’

‘Fell comes from an old language, a remainder of the past. It means hill, or high place, or hard. That I know. Unless, fell is used in the modern way, meaning fallen. That’s all I know.’

‘Hard winter, or winter on a hill doesn’t seem like an unlikely explanation.’

‘But wouldn’t it be odd for a Northerner to name his keep Winter, if there’s winter all around him? Winter isn’t harder around Winterfell than elsewhere in that region of the North, is it?’

‘Oh no. There are places in the north who see a lot more snow than us. We’re on a hill, after all, snow collects more on the lower lands. And we have our hot streams underground, but that you know.’

Sansa twirled her tea around, watching the broken leaves float over the bottom of her cup.

A thought swirled to the front of her mind.

‘You’re wrong though. About our kings. King of Winter is a title of the Stark kings.’

Willas eyebrows knit together.

She could see the piece of information click into place in his eyes.

‘Winter kings on a hill… Or in a hill, given you have crypts. Yes. That’s satisfactory’, Willas decided with a satisfied smile.

The next silent moment was as comfortable as it had been before the wedding, causing Sansa to smile.

She knew that it was now her turn to break the silence and say something. But she couldn’t think of anything meaningless. She did have questions tugging at her mind though, but she felt more conscious of every next one.

Willas was exceedingly clever and well-read. He saw through her words, her games of cyvasse, and knew so much about everything she felt like his intellectual inferior. Though through the shorter age gap between them not as inferior as to Lord Baelish. She didn’t dare ask a lot of questions out of fear she’d remind him that she wasn’t nearly half as smart as him. But if she never asked, she never learned. And then she would be a poor conversational partner to him.

‘You said you liked etymology. Where does that fit in between astronomy and history and war tactics? You know so much. I fear there’s not a book anyone could give you that you haven’t read’, she asked softly.

It seemed like the most subtle way to ask for it.

‘Oh, it’s more of a casual interest. Never read much about it, just picked it up here and there. One of the earlier things, you know. Came along with listening to stories and songs. The tale of Durran Durrandon explaining how Storm’s End came to be, explaining the name. The origin of Highgarden. On my trips as a young boy my maesters taught me the history of every place. Told me about the ruling families. Quickly understood how all names came to be. Most place names are logical. The mander, named after a family. Appleton has a lot of apple orchards. It all makes such sense. Other things are harder. People names, for example. A name usually comes from a certain region, but what does a name mean? Or, for example, other words like this thing’, Willas explained as he picked up an orange.

‘Did the colour come first, or did the fruit come first. After which people called everything with the same shade that colour.’

‘A good question.’

She had never considered that. Should she?

‘Do all these questions have answers?’

His eyes twinkled as they connected with hers. He tossed the orange, catching it again.

‘No. Some maesters occupy themselves with it, but most prefer to keep busy with “useful science” as they call it.’

‘Is it not useful to understand words?’

‘Yes but… I can’t fault their reasoning.’

‘Which is?’

How aware he was of all discussions maesters held.

‘That whether one knows the origin of a word or not, a word stays the same. Finding out changes nothing. It’s just knowledge existing for the sake of knowledge. A noble pursuit, but not as noble as say… Figuring out the seasons.’

‘I see’, Sansa said, mulling it over.

‘Not quite convinced’, Willas stated.

His guess drew a nervous laugh from her throat. He read her too well. Perhaps it was a good thing they were married. The thought of having someone who wasn’t bound to her read her so well was frightening.

‘It is not my place to question a maester’s reasoning when I’ve learned nothing but bookkeeping, a little history, silly songs and embroidery.’

‘I have yet to meet the first human who is right about everything. So don’t hold back because you assume them to be right about everything. What are you thinking?’

Sansa felt her shoulders inch up, to shrug off her opinion, but she stopped herself.

‘They have spent a lot of time to figuring out the seasons. Much more time than explaining words. Yet just from our conversation I feel we know more about words than about the change of the seasons. It just makes me wonder about what pursuit of knowledge is worth pursuing then. My sister tried embroidery, for years. She never got better, despite her effort and the septas trying their best to teach her. She did progress quickly in sword fighting though. For a woman, embroidery is a more useful skill. That was the noble pursuit, but I would say it was a useless one. In the north we have a saying for a futile pursuit.’

She stole up a glance, finding him smiling at her as he peeled the orange, its fragrant odour quickly filling up the room.

‘Which is?’ 

‘Might as well howl at the moon’, she shrugged.

Willas threw his head back, not entirely un-wolflike, and howled with laughter.

Once he was done with laughing he self-conciously recomposed himself, brushing his hair away and tucking it behind his ear.

‘Might as well give up world’s biggest mystery she says carelessly. I reckon that objectively, their time was wasted until now. But telling them to stop would be just as much howling at the moon’, he said with a final hiccup of laughter.

He bit away the remnants of his smile on his lips, observing Sansa’s empty plate and neatly placed cutlery.

‘Might I suggest we move to the more inviting living space with a fire and more light?’

‘Alright. B- but would that be in our robes?’

‘It… could?’ Willas said as he pulled himself upright by his cane.

‘It’s only that if servants come in, I would rather be dressed.’

‘Then dressed you shall be. You are not really asking me for permission to dress?’

The awkward silence said enough for Willas. He scraped his throat, tapping his cane softly.

‘Please, don’t ask me things that make me feel like your captor. You’re my second-in-command. You do as you see fit. In and out of my presence.’

‘Your- your in second-in-command?’ Sansa asked, blinking widely. ‘I’m just your lady wife.’

‘Yes, and we have a great history of clever wives who lead Highgarden to new heights.’

His cane tapped until she saw his feet in front of her, where her gaze was aimed at the floor.

‘Do not understand me in the wrong way. I do not demand you take a leadership role you do not wish for. You did not ask to rule Highgarden when you married me. But I do want to remind you that you have freedom and authority if you want it. I rule and decide over everyone already, out of necessity. I don’t want to rule over you. I didn’t take a wife to have another thing to rule over. I took a wife…’

‘Because you needed an heir.’

He rolled his eyes.

‘You make it sound so romantic’, he scolded.

Now it was her turn to bite away a smile.

‘While I do need one I took you because I loved you and desired you. And I took a wife to share my life, thoughts and burdens with.’

‘Already Highgarden has become a better place since your arrival. And that is not because you stayed in the shadows and did nothing you weren’t explicitly told to do.’

She allowed a small smile to come back to her face. She couldn’t disagree that taking her life into her own hands, deciding to become his Solstice Maiden, asking him to stay and advise him on his Winter policy had all been her idea.

Willas nodded, knowing his point had been made. He’d made it before, and she wondered if a part of him was perhaps becoming exasperated at constantly having to assure her. But she couldn’t help it. She knew all that he said on a rational level, but years of living in fear and being forced to roll with the punches weren’t erased by a conversation or three.

‘So… Need help taking off your robes?’ he asked, raising his eyebrows.

‘I think I’ll manage’, she answered honestly.

The light in his eyes dimmed, and she got the distinct impression there had been a right and a wrong answer to the question.

He took a step back, accepting her answer. The regret increased.

She couldn’t stand the inches of increased distance.

‘But I’ll need a pair of hands to tie the back of my dress’, she rushed to say.

‘Really?’ he asked , turning back towards her.

He was waiting for her confirmation.

He didn’t want a dutiful answer.

He wanted a hearty answer.

She took a deep breath. It had been hard yesterday, and it was even harder in the light of day. But she did need a pair of hands for her dress. And it was no difficult choice between her husband and calling in a servant to intrude in their peaceful bubble. A part of her awakened at the prospect of having physical touch again.

She pushed her robes off her shoulders, leaving her before him in only a nightgown.

‘Yes.’

She made quick work of a subtle wash with the cold water in his basin, dabbing herself with lavender perfume before returning to where he stood near to her clothes for the day.

He picked up her chemise first.

‘Smallclothes first, yes?’ he questioned, playing dumb.

‘I believe so, my lord.’

She turned around, raising her hands expectantly.

Nothing happened.

And then one free hand and one with her chemise appeared on either side of her waist, holding it against her belly.

‘Oh, that isn’t quite right’, he mused, a smile audible in his voice.

He fumbled with it, until he held it against her chest. His hands holding the fabric against the shape of her breasts.

‘It’s supposed to cover this though, right?’

‘Yes.’

‘Quite challenging, I must say’, Willas mused as his thumbs blindly found her nipples.

She very much not regretted asking him for his assistance.

‘It’s alright, women’s clothes are rather difficult, my lord.’

‘So I see’, Willas sighed, his breath tickling her shoulder. She could feel his lips ghosting over her shoulder.

She realized it was up to her to call it quits. She could tell him how to put it on her, or stay silent and allow him to try and fail for as long as he liked.

A shiver ran down her spine at the thought.

‘You’re cold, I better find out quickly’, he said.

He pulled the shift over her, his hands keeping on flattening the fabric around her hips.

Sansa let out a shaky breath. Last time when those hands had gone down there…

‘Willas –‘

She turned around in his arms, pressing her lips against his.

‘I’m trying to do my job’, he protested with a smile before kissing her back.

‘But I’m glad you’re appreciative.’

‘Hm’, Sansa hummed against his lips.

His hands slid down again.

He moved –

A knock on the door pushed them apart.

The voice sounding from the other hand dousing the temperature in the room as if the windows were wide open.

‘I’ve given you the whole morning. Time to become Lord Willas again’, his grandmother grumped from the other side of the door.

‘We’ll be right with you, grandmother’, Willas answered with dignity. As if he wasn’t undressed and about to make love to his wife.

He turned back towards Sansa.

‘We have about ten minutes before she throws those doors open out of impatience.’

Sansa nodded, waving with her hands for Willas to start getting ready before she moved to put on her clothes.

Under normal circumstances she would have been nervous and thoughtful around him, but the time pressure made them rush through their dressing without mind to the novelty of being around each other in their respective states. Instead she put on her clothes without thinking of how she looked while wiggling into her leggings or her ruffled her as she pulled her dress over her head.

She stole glances at Willas, who sat down on a chair to wash himself. She quietly asked him where to find his clothes and quickly brought them to him. Brushing her hair in front of the mirror as he put on his clothes. Then he laced her dress and she helped him into his boots.

And like that, they rushed out of the room.

Servants were fluttering around Olenna, swapping old flowers for new ones, carrying in drinks and lunch, and kindling the fire. Amidst the chaos Olenna sat calmly on a plush green chair as if it were a throne.

‘Don’t look so surprised. You’re the regent rulers of Highgarden amidst one of the most turbulent times in recent Westerosi history. You didn’t think I’d allow you to take a pause from politics?’ she questioned, raising a thin barely visible brow.

‘Father went on a trip with mother for months after their marriage.’

‘Your father married during a very peaceful time while Luthor was still ruling. You don’t have that luxury’, Olenna explained curtly.

She looked aside, face souring at the sight of the servants.

‘Are you nearly done?’ she snapped ‘I’m about to have a private conversation.’

The servants apologized, positively racing through their tasks before rushing out.

‘Dear, we’re a bit immobile, could you open the door and check no one is standing close to it?’ Olenna ordered Sansa.

Sansa quickly nodded and rushed to the door at the same pace as the servants had used when exiting. Stealing a quick glance into the corridor, she noticed Left and Right standing across the door were closest, and no others were in the immediate vicinity.

She closed the door again, nodding at Olenna’s raised eyebrows.

She whipped her head back to her grandson.

‘So. This Aegon is being taken seriously in the Stormlands. What do you think?’

‘What do _you_ think?’ Willas asked carefully.

‘I think your lords are taking him seriously. And he’s retaken Storm’s End. It doesn’t even matter if he’s Aegon the Targaryen or a random farm boy. If people believe he’s legit and they’re willing to stand behind him, he’ll be treated as a prince.’

‘He has already secured Dorne’s alliance.’

‘Well then. Either we join them or we’ll have soldiers barging in from two sides.’

‘Joining them means opposing the crown. We’ll have war on our borders no matter how we turn it. Margaery’s on the throne and the Reach holds the small council. You don’t believe father will join Aegon? He finally has the power he wants. Switching to Aegon would risk everything, not in the least his daughter.’

He was trying to gauge her opinion. Sansa knew he wanted to join Aegon.

‘You’re aware that not everyone’s fond of your father? All throughout the Reach I found lords, ladies and landed knights complaining about how much his royal ambitions have cost them in taxes and in crops. And it goes without saying there’s still those who harbour Targaryen sympathies.’

‘Yes.’

‘And there’s those who have become vengeful because the Reach keeps calling their boys to war and sending them bones in return. If even that.’

‘Yes’, Willas answered, eyes sharp and face neutral.

Sansa observed their dynamic, both their faces frozen, eyes twinkling as they anticipated an intellectual spar.

‘I heard many men were lost at Oldtown.’

‘Quite a few.’

‘And we have lost the only two generals who would always listen to the command of the patriarch. And we have only one remaining commander with the brains to hold our borders.’

Sansa quickly understood what Olenna was implying. Lord Tarly was a strong clever man, Willas’ father was not fit to lead an army. If it came to it, only one border could be protected. Not two. She was suggesting it was better to turn against the crown.

Willas’ mouth pulled down at the mention of his brothers’ deaths.

‘I have sent ravens to Storm’s End, one to Aegon and one to Lord Rowan.’

Sansa assumed the look on Olenna’s face was the closest she’d come to expressing fondness and maternal pride.

‘I asked Princess Arianne to write to me about her meeting with Aegon and she answered saying she believes him to be legit.’

‘That’s how you know of Dorne’s plans’, Olenna reasoned, face scrunching with disgust. ‘I dislike the Martells but it’s good to know. Very good.’

‘You believe the people would support us switching sides… Again?’

‘They don’t care about sides. They’re fine with whatever side means more peace, less taxes, less boys off to war. They hold no love for Baratheon kings, what have they done for them? They’re not admirable characters, nor did they cause prosperity. They were summer kings, which means people were less aware of their mishandling of politics. And they kept up a good façade. But that’s all gone now. It’s winter, gossip about the incest king is all around, the queen regent’s image is broken, King’s Landing is piss poor and revolutionarily devout. The realm is like a crate of millennia old wildfire. Unpredictable, unstable, and about to explode when it’s shaken in the slightest way.’

‘But father. Father won’t see it. And to declare war independently…’

‘It’ll cause enough confusion in King’s Landing to keep Margaery and your father save, while setting into action what is hopefully the last war. It’ll be a quick one I reason. The North’s too far away and after the treatment of the Starks by the brat king they won’t hurry to gather forces. The Riverlands are depleted. The iron islands defeated. The only strong allies the king has are the Westerlands and the Vale. And the Lannister armies have been fighting for a long time, and are scattered.’

Olenna looked up at Sansa then.

‘You’ve recently been in the Vale. What’s the climate?’

‘Everyone proclaims to be loyal.’

‘But?’

‘They’re very divided. And truth be told they’re more focused on trying to gain more power in the Vale than on the throne.’

‘What’s Baelish up to?’

‘Lord Baelish has been loyal to the crown. But he’s always only loyal as long as he gains something from it.’

Olenna nodded.

‘You aunt died shortly after her marriage. Quite sad, dying so soon. While she was still so young. And Baelish without heir. Leaves him in absolute power, but without a real heir begotten by Lysa Tully while her son with the last lord of the Vale still breathes he’s in a precocious position.’

Sansa threw a hesitant glance at Willas, who gave an encouraging nod.

‘It wasn’t an accident’, Olenna said.

‘It wasn’t, my lady. Lord Baelish pushed her through the moon door.’

‘Because he wanted power?’

‘Because she tried to push me through.’

Olenna’s eyebrows rose high. Sansa was sure she’d never seen surprise on her face before.

‘Lord Baelish… W-was….’

She’d never even said it to Willas. It felt like admitting to cheating. But she hadn’t been able to do anything about it.

‘Lord Baelish had kissed me… I couldn’t do anything about it. But aunt Lysa had seen. She loved him.’

She felt Willas’ gaze on her, but she couldn’t meet his eyes. Not now.

‘And he loved your mother, and now you. Must have struck a nerve to always be second. So it was unplanned. Thought so. Getting rid of her so soon, before he had an heir, seemed reckless’, Olenna nodded.

‘Was he planning on marrying you?’ she asked.

‘He planned to have me married to the heir of the Vale.’

‘That boy?’

‘No. Ser Hardyng. If Lord Robin were to die, he would be next in line. Of course I couldn’t marry yet. I was still married to Lord Tyrion.’

‘Why would he die?’

‘He’s of ill health. Always has been. And he’s been growing weaker. Probably because he’s given too much milk of the poppy, but he’s uncontrollable without it.’

‘Aha. But that would make Lord Baelish lose power.’

‘I believe he thought he could control the Vale through me. He also said Ser Hardyng would win me back Winterfell.’

‘He meant to have him attack the North in winter? Ridiculous.’

Sansa nodded.

Olenna was silent for a while.

‘I’ll think on that tonight. Most interesting. Anyways. What do the Vale lords think of their lord, with their heir so weak?’

‘Some hate him. They want him gone.’

‘Hate him why? Be as precise as you can.’

‘His character. Because they owe him money, some of them. And because he was able to marry Lysa. Some of them had their eye on her themselves.’

‘So there’s many people who would benefit from his disappearance?’

Sansa nodded.

‘Have you considered telling them about his involvement in Lysa’s death?’

‘N-no. But then… How could I? And why would I? I depended on him.’

‘You don’t anymore. He’s the most dangerous man in King’s Landing. The sooner he’s gone the better. With the added bonus that if he’s gone, there won’t be a successor in time to decide to go to war. And if it’s true what you just said, none of them will be as involved in court politics as Baelish. Who would bother the game of thrones.’

‘Destabilize the Vale. Then there’s only King’s Landing’, Willas nodded.

‘Shortest war of them all’, Olenna said.

Lord Baelish had done a lot for her.

Gotten her out of King’s Landing.

Hidden her.

Fed her.

Dressed her.

Given her power in the Eyrie.

But he had also used her as a poison-carrier. Wanted to use her for his own gain and pleasure. And he’d killed her aunt.

Her loyalty didn’t lie with him anymore, but she did feel indebted to him.

She had enough on him to sentence him to death thrice over.

She would be the death of him. She, his little pawn.

‘Who would I even contact?’ she wondered aloud.

She knew there was a whole list of Lords Declarent to pick from. But she had to choose wisely.

‘Who lives closest to him, but doesn’t live with him. Those living with him are off charts, given that the maesters read their letters’, Olenna replied.

That meant Nestor Royce was off charts. She knew him best.

Bronze Yohn Royce though, he fit. He loathed Littlefinger, lead the Lords Declarent and was very open about wanting Baelish gone.

He also had most to gain from Baelish’ removal. He was the future guardian of Sweetrobin, and Robin was to be his squire. The Royce’s had always held a lot of power, and had been the most powerful kings back in the day. He would probably become the next Lord Protector

He’d almost caused an open revolt without cause. If he got a letter from her with a list of reasons to dispose of Lord Baelish he’d have all Littlefinger’s enemies collected at the Gates in no time.

She was pretty sure that although almost everyone would be suspicious when they were contacted out of the blue by a former traitor accusing a Lord Protector with involvement in regicide, an attempt at murder of a Lannister, the murder of the Lady of the Vale and the deliberate poisoning of the heir of the Vale. They would doubt her claims and demand proof, which she had little of.

Aegon Targaryen needn’t prove his claim, people wanted to overthrow Tommen and his existence and claim were a convenient reason to switch sides and put a king in place they had control over. She believed the same reasoning went for this situation. Lord Yohn needed no proof, he only needed an excuse to attack.

‘Alright. I’ll do it.’

‘I’ll help you write’, both Tyrells said at once.

A queer silence fell over the room, the crackling of the logs in the fire becoming the only sound.

‘Well then. Let’s get to it, so we can get back to our day’, Sansa decided as she rose in search of paper.

‘Good, direct action. I like that’, Olenna decided.

‘Grandmother, I thank you for weighing in and advising us. But after this letter, I want you to leave us alone. We haven’t been married for a full day.’

‘You’ve been married for a day and some hours now.’

‘Loras and Garlan just died. I just got married. I deserve time. We deserve time.’

‘Politics don’t care about your personal life and feelings, boy’, Olenna critiqued.

‘But someone who is tired and grieving cannot make the best decisions’, Sansa said softly as she returned with a paper.

‘Lady Olenna, has he not managed thus far? At his own pace? There were already plans set in motion for the next war. Willas is very clever. All will be well, even if he takes a short break. There’s not much to do about the whole ordeal yet.’

Olenna nodded, pressing her lips together as she examined Sansa and Willas, her eyes falling on her hands protectively folded over his on his lap.

'We can work on the letter today and tomorrow, it only takes a small two weeks to arrive. Plenty in time for the war. Perhaps the later we sent it the better. It can wait', Olenna reasoned.

‘I have a proposal.’

‘Which is?’ Willas asked.

‘I go to Storm’s End to negotiate. And meanwhile you get your rest but you have to promise to spend at least one hour a day on ruling.’

‘To Storm’s End? That’s a two month trip. By the time you arrive…’ Willas stammered.

‘I know.’

‘And you just got here.’

‘I am aware of when I arrived.’

‘But such a trip. At your age. Grandmother…’

‘What? Rowan’s is intelligent enough but he is no Tyrell. Your father won’t do it; Your mother listens to your father too much and has no talent for it. Your brothers are dead and your sister is in King’s Landing. Someone has to go and it won’t be you and your wife. Stay safe within these walls, our future lies in your hands. These bones have gone on a great many trips the past two years and I’m none the worse for wear. Actually, I’m looking forward to doing something useful again. Your father never allowed me to do anything these past few years. Always tutting when I advised him. Giving important roles to others but never to his poor mother. I can do this.’

‘I don’t doubt it’, Willas replied.

Sansa looked his way. And saw his Adam’s apple bob up and down.

‘I just loathe to see you go.’

‘We’ve all gone away before’, Olenna shrugged.

‘Exactly. And now we’ll never all be together again.’

Sansa turned towards Olenna, and could see understanding dawn on her wrinkled face. She nodded sagely.

‘You won’t get rid of me easily.’

‘Then promise you’ll return.’

‘I can’t see why not. I won’t be risking my life travelling like your brothers. They were soldiers, Willas. As was my brother. And your uncles.’

‘Sansa’s sister and mother weren’t. Nor were her little brothers’, Willas pointed out.

‘During times of war, you never know when it is the last time you see someone. And at my age, every time might be the last one you see your friends. The Stranger comes for us all in time.’

She stretched out her hand towards him. Laying her tiny hand on top of his knee.

It seemed she saw the damage the loneliness had caused, and the fear the sudden loss of his family had brought forth.

‘There will be a war between Baratheon and Targaryen. If we do nothing and hide together, armies will be at our door. And our people might turn on us for not protecting them and then we’ll all be together in death. We need to take our lives in our own hands. And ensure the best possible outcome for ourselves. This war will pass, as will all wars, and then those of us who don’t have to live elsewhere out of necessity will be together again. I assure you.’

Lady Olenna took her cane, standing upright.

Willas and Sansa rose as well.

‘I’ll go to Storm’s End’, Olenna decided.

‘In the meantime you two take care of the home front.’

Her eyes went to Sansa. ‘Keep your promise to me.’

Sansa nodded.

‘Enjoy your marital bliss and try hard enough for some heirs, alright? Just in case things go even more wrong before they start going right.’

Willas swallowed and Sansa blushed, but Sansa recovered herself quickly enough to nod.

‘Not that I don’t think we’ll succeed’, Olenna said as she hobbled towards the door.

‘When will you leave?’ Willas asked.

Olenna looked at him over her shoulder, dropping the hand she’d raised towards the doorknob.

‘Well, once I have arranged for the fastest ship on the Mander that can carry a carriage and some strong horses. Don’t fear. I’ll still be around for a week.’

She turned around again, raising her hand.

The door was opened before she could take a hold of it. The old woman jumped aside with a catlike quickness that astonished Sansa.

As her cane clattered to the ground, a servant froze. His eyes moved from the cane to Lady Olenna, before he shuddered.

Without speaking he quickly offered her the cane and stepped away, fearing the old woman would hit him for his attempt at her life.

The man looked between the three Tyrells, visibly uncomfortable and cheeks red.

‘My lord, my lady, my lady… It’s lady Tyrell. Lady Leonette Tyrell. She had just arrived in the harbour.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember when I said I would slow down the plot for a bit? Yeah that plan failed. 
> 
> Anyways. I hope you enjoyed.  
> Liked it? Drop a comment, I'm always glad to chat x


	23. Widow's Wail

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leonette arrives home with her entourage. Difficult conversations need to be had.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those who currently aren't doing too well, this chapter contains a lot of heavy discussions about loss and death. If you aren't up for that right now, please read something fluffier or watch a feelgood movie instead (or after this chapter, if you do decide to read).

Sansa might have brought winter with her.

But Leonette brought the cold.

The silence that fell over the castle was suffocating as the servants gathered to greet the widow of their most beloved young lord.

Sansa regretted the masons had decided to put up the statues today. They had meant it as a surprise for their future lord and lady to notice when they woke up. But now instead of Willas and Sansa admiring them and thanking the makers, Garlan’s widow would have to ride underneath her husband’s statue, his sword pointing at her.

It couldn’t be helped.

She stood in black alongside Olenna and Willas. An outfit change had been necessary. In black again, the day after her wedding.

She was gaining a sister, but there was nothing joyful about her reunion with the girl.

Lady Leonette had been an avid horsewoman and had frequently gone hawking and hunting with Margaery, but she wasn’t on a horse. Instead a giant carriage rode through the gate into the highest circle of Highgarden. The drapes down. The mourner had not wanted to see or be seen.

The silence was only broken by the creaking of the wheels and horse hooves hitting the stone path straight to the main entrance.

A stone of dread dropped on Sansa’s stomach.

The door was opened softly, but it was a tall young man who came out.

It took some time to recognise him. His hair was longer and his shape was broader, no longer as gangly as it used to be. Alyn Ambrose. He was dressed in black, except for the yellow and red belt and scabbard that held his sword.

‘I keep on forgetting he’s family sometimes’, Willas muttered.

A Hightower mother. He’d lost just as many uncles as Willas.

Alyn didn’t look at the crowd gathered, instead turning to help out the following person.

Next came a willowy maiden in a sober dark gown. The months had faded Sansa’s memory, but her appearance beside Alyn confirmed that this was Elinor Tyrell.

Elinor had stood accused of lewdness, fornication and conspiracy to commit high treason as well. She remembered how she had looked down on her as an inexperienced child, her mind fuelled with envy and weariness that Elinor, although older, had such a blissfully perfect life without pain.

Though Margaery had been forgiven her broken maidenhead, Elinor and Megga had taken the noble route and confessed their sins and done their walk. Her hair was covered by a black veil, and Sansa wondered whether it had been cropped short like Cersei’s.

The pair turned towards the carriage again, their hands reaching inwards.

Sansa drew breath between her pressed teeth.

No longer either dainty or bright-eyed, Leonette supported herself on the shoulder of Alyn while holding the hand of Elinor. The loose black dress swallowed her figure, but the wind did not tolerate her delicacy, blowing straight at her so her shape became visible for all to see.

She could hear the whispers and gasps rising. The beloved lady wife of the most gallant Tyrell, blessed to carry a last piece of him with her everywhere she went.

Leonette didn’t mind the whispers or the wind, idly brushing her dress and starting her walk. Even though it was dry now, a dark cloud seemed to be cast over her as she approached.

Sansa realized she couldn’t have stopped at her family home for more than a day.

An explanation quickly presented itself. Although she had started walking the carriage was not empty. The regal pale head of Alerie Tyrell appeared, followed by Lady Fossoway.

All worries for Leonette flew away. Sansa was now worried for herself. They had been alone for over three months, and now everyone was coming back.

It was the end of their peace and freedom. Much as Sansa wanted Willas to have his family again, she wished she’d have gotten more time with him than the single night and morning they’d had to be one. Demands would be made on their time now that his friends and family were back.

Ser Raymas came galloping in, as did Ella and Leona. Sansa averted her eyes. Would they hate her for her lies?

_Live is not a song, but does it have to remind me of that fact every single day?_

The wind shifted, and the world paused.

Leonette looked up, mouth falling open.

Elinor looked up as well, surprised by Leonette’s pause.

Elinor’s cheeks reddened.

Alerie stood motionless beside Lady Fossoway recognition and curiosity on her face.

Sansa’s stomach flipped. She was going to be sick.

It was then that she felt a heavy hand on her waist, drawing her closer to him.

Confusion and grief now cracked through Leonette’s blank face as she crossed the final steps.

‘Willas’, she said, her head dipping as she started to bow.

Since his one arm was still occupied he tapped his cane against her leg softly.

‘Not for me, Leo. Not in a time like this.’

Her eyes were glassy when she looked up again. Sansa had difficulty meeting them.

‘Lady Sansa?’ Leonette questioned softly, as if she wasn’t used to speaking anymore. Her voice had always been so clear and full of smiles.

Did she not know? Highgarden was less than a couple hours away by raven. Surely the news had to have reached Cider Hall.

‘We married. It’s a long story and has poor timing, so let us save it for another time’, Willas explained quickly.

A faint smile lifted her lips as a tear escaped her eye.

‘Just like you had to’, Leonette smiled at Sansa, her throat appearing to constrict around the attempt at humour.

Gripped by an impulse she didn’t foresee or understood, her hands reached out to hold those of the older girl.

She was already struggling so much, Sansa didn’t even have the heart to either congratulate her or offer her condolences.

Leonette’s hands were shaking and cold.

‘Don’t hold me too much, I always start crying and here isn’t the place’, Leonette muttered, pulling one hand loose and clapping Sansa’s before withdrawing.

‘Didn’t I tell you she was beautiful, Willas?’

Another tear rolled down her cheek.

‘We don’t have to do this here. Or now. Not when… I would have spared you such topics if it could be helped.’

The words couldn’t be spoken, the names couldn’t be said. Grief held them both in a chokehold, and it appeared to be even more difficult to share it with another who was grieving as well.

‘No. It’s good. It’s good. We need good news. You’ve gifted me a new sister and Highgarden a future lady. And… Now the burden doesn’t rest with my one shot anymore’, she said softly, her hand instinctively going to her bump.

This was not the same girl Sansa had met. It was a stranger with a similar face.

‘I’m going to the crypts. He’s there, isn’t he?’ Leonette asked.

‘If you wait a bit we can all –‘

‘I’d like to be alone. For a while. If you wouldn’t mind.’

Willas gave a small nod.

‘How did he arrive?’ she paused to swallow before continuing, ‘was he embalmed or…’

‘He came back a whole man. It wasn’t ugly. The body could be greeted.’

Sansa couldn’t understand how the thought of a dead body could make someone smile, but Leonette did and nodded.

‘Good. I’m glad. He deserved that. To not be butchered. Then do you have a lock of his hair?’

‘I…’

Willas let out a deep breath, pinching his nose in frustration as he swallowed a curse.

‘I knew I’d forgotten something.’

‘It’s alright’, Leonette sighed.

She placed a hand on his shoulder, continuing inside.

The others were up by then, having lingered on the stairs to allow them a private conversation.

Elinor, Alyn and Ser Raymas bowed down, while the elderly ladies nodded, before moving inside.

‘Welcome back to Highgarden’, Willas greeted everyone. ‘Lady Sansa and I are glad to receive you, though we didn’t have time to prepare your arrival. I suggest we talk in the library over drinks. Undoubtedly we all have a lot to tell’, Willas smiled, irony dripping off the last sentence.

‘Where has she gone to?’ Raymas asked, immediately cutting through decorum out of worry for his sister.

‘The crypts. I believe she needs time for herself.’

Sansa quickly saw Raymas doubted that opinion, his eyes fleeing towards the direction of the crypts.

‘She wanted to be alone, she said’, Sansa added from behind Willas’ shoulder.

‘If so, I will leave her for a while, my lady’, Raymas greeted, bending down to kiss her hand.

‘Congratulations on your marriage. May it be happy and prosperous’, he wished.

‘Thank you, my friend’, Willas said.

‘I must admit I’m surprised, but not by a lot. You made the right choice during that competition’, the man laughed.

Willas offered a smile, but couldn’t relax as the hall was filled with others.

Sansa dropped behind Willas, allowing the two friends to connect.

‘Lady Sansa’, Elinor begged, appearing on her left side.

‘I was surprised to hear of your marriage. I did not know you were in the Reach’, she started, pushing a short strand of hair behind her ear that had slipped from her veil. Her once beautiful hair only reached her collar bone now.

‘It was something of a secret’, Sansa admitted calmly.

Elinor nodded, pushing at her hair again despite that it was still behind her ear.

‘Yes. I am happy though! I wish you and Lord Willas all happiness. It’s a good match. The Tyrells are a good family. It’s only right. After all you’ve suffered, and that marriage to that little gargoyle… Oh heaven’s, my tongue. Why would you want to be reminded of that? I apologize… And I apologize for my behaviour during and after the wedding as well. Of course you didn’t willingly marry Lord Tyrion, yet I did not talk to you out of a stupid idea that our family had been slighted. Which of course isn’t true. I do apologize. I was so silly back then. Forgive me?’ the girl stammered.

Sansa could barely follow as the girl rattled on. She wasn’t sure whether she genuinely regretted it, or regretted it because she had acted horribly and was afraid now that Sansa was her superior. Still she decided to forgive the girl. Sansa wished someone would have forgiven her her mistakes and been kind to her after she went through the most traumatic year of her life. She felt sorry for the girl. Sansa had been vain, happy and cruel to others too before she learned better.

‘Yes. Do not worry.’

‘Thank you so much. Thank you.’

Elinor skipped away when they reached the hallway of the first floor, going to hold the hand of her betrothed.

Sansa spotted Willas, slowly making his way onto the next set of stairs, still talking to Raymas.

Left to the hounds.

No, not hounds. She was his lady, this was his family. They couldn’t hurt her. But then why did the fine hairs on her neck tingle?

Lady Alerie’s shoulders were straight as she pushed forward, appearing beside Sansa in a gown so dark it only appeared green when it was caught in the light.

Sansa wanted to bolt.

‘Sansa Stark… Tyrell’, she greeted, testing each vowel on her lips. ‘I am sorry I did not make it back in time for the wedding. But then I didn’t know there would be one.’

Perhaps the floor could swallow her whole. It would be a mercy.

She threw a look at her good-mother beside her, and noticed Olenna quickly keeping up beside them, eyes dancing with amusement.

‘Should’ve been faster’, Lady Olenna shrugged.

‘Lady Alerie’, Sansa quickly said, nodding her head.

She had left a servant behind and now returned to find out Sansa Stark had systematically lied to her and married her son behind her back. She felt her cheeks burning. They were probably as red as her hair now. The hair that hadn’t been red when Alerie last saw it.

Her mind raced for a quick pacifying answer, but where could she even begin.

‘My lady, we did not deliberately time it so that others couldn’t attend.’ That lie came easily. ‘We meant no offense.’

‘It would seem odd for my son to offend me out of nowhere’, she answered.

‘I know it must seem awfully suspicious. But I swear I have no bad intentions.’

‘Alerie, you were so disappointed when the marriage plan failed last time’, Olenna said. ‘And you hadn’t even met the girl then. Isn’t she fine enough?’

‘But it wasn’t planned now, mother. And I didn’t know now. Do allow a mother to be interested in her son’s private life.’

‘Your son is almost three decades old, Mace already ruled the Reach by that time’ Olenna pointed out coolly.

Sansa had only ever been on the other side, afraid of the sharp tongue of the Queen of Thorns. She hadn’t expected the protection. But Olenna was also escalating the conflict.

‘Yes, but it was different. Mace still rules the Reach. He is still the head of this family. Willas’ age doesn’t matter.’

Sansa was entirely forgotten by her new mother and grandmother.

‘He’s had almost three decades to arrange a marriage. If he was so hellbent on marrying him to a certain someone, it should have long happened.’

‘You know it doesn’t work like that. He bided his time. Watching when it was advantageous to…’

‘With that logic you could keep him a bachelor until he is sixty. There will always be an advantageous match to make. Dear, I am a mother and have been a wife. I understand how you are feeling. But I have to be blunt. You lost two children in one day. One more such day and you have none. Your children need heirs or this family is finished.’

And there it was. Olenna could not have struck her harder if she’d smashed her cane in Alerie’s face. Sansa was shocked by her expression. So long she’d believed Alerie to be a gayer version of her own mother. But her own mother wouldn’t have talked to her elders in such a way, allowed anyone to address her in that way or shown such emotion. She was too dignified and cold for that. Only to her children she was warm.

‘You don’t understand. I’ve just lost two boys, my daughter risked a beheading. You didn’t lose a single child. I cannot be blamed for feeling protective of the ones I have left’, Alerie said, her voice breaking on the final word.

‘I haven’t lost a child that grew past infancy, but I had my fair share of swollen wombs that emptied before their time and infants that turned cold in their crib. No, I understand well. But that girl isn’t the one you need to fear’ Olenna said, drawing attention back towards Sansa. ‘She’s the one your boy has chosen to carry your grandchildren. You should be glad, the Starks and Tully’s have always been a fertile bunch.’

Was she supposed to smile? That wasn’t appropriate was it?

‘No offense, dearest. We know the Stark family is usually honourable. I’m not accusing you of anything yet. But such a ruse followed by rash decisions made by my mild calculated son well…’ Alerie started.

She understood. Of course to any outsider who didn’t know how organically it had all come to be it was rather strange.

Sansa looked ahead and was relieved to see the library was within reach. She’d survived.

‘Yesterday I married Sansa’, Willas started, putting his hand possessively on his wife’s lap as if they could still take her from him.

Lady Alerie sat in her silver and red chair, Ser Raymas in Lord Tyrell’s green wing chair, Olenna on her emerald one decorated with vines, and Lady Fossoway, Elinor and Alyn sat on normal chairs. The emerald méridienne of Garlan and Leonette remained empty, everyone’s gaze sliding to it every now and then.

‘We all know how the Lannisters made her suffer. After King Joffrey’s wedding she was abducted from King’s Landing by Lord Baelish. He kept her and made plans for her future, in which she of course had no say. Sansa Stark was an enemy of the crown so she couldn’t move without risking capture, nor did she know to survive on her own as she’s a highborn lady. Lord Baelish was also the only person she could turn to. Her aunt had died, her uncle was imprisoned and the North was far away. Baelish sent her to Highgarden when a hedge knight found out about her identity.’

‘Oh yes, Ser Shadrich. He arrived in court right before Queen Cersei’s trial’, Elinor said. Willas nodded.

‘Both in the Vale and here she kept up her fake identity since she was still an enemy of the crown, and married to an alleged kingslayer. It was only after you left, mother, that developments saw to it that she was neither anymore… And another recent development saw us being in love and courting. It was a risky but a good match in our eyes. I know father wanted to have a say in it so we kept it secret. That way father and Margaery couldn’t be blamed for my actions, but I couldn’t be prevented from marrying the woman I wanted. Alright, now we are ready to receive your well wishes.’

Elinor and Alyn were quick to offer them, but Lady Fossoway waited for Lady Alerie to speak.

‘So you are not a friend of Lord Baelish?’

‘I was with him out of necessity, my lady. And while I am grateful for the kindness he has shown me I do not trust him. I am very grateful to be a part of your family. I would never betray any of you.’

Alerie nodded.

‘I am glad you are finally married, Willas. And based on what I heard of Sansa Stark and what I have seen of Alayne Stone I am sure you are a fine lady, Sansa’, Alerie spoke quietly.

It filled Sansa with relief, until Alerie continued.

‘But you could have asked, you and your father know how to code messages. We could pretend we didn’t know while we actually did.’

‘I know. But mother, I proposed less than two weeks ago. It’s not like we kept this secret for months, plotting how to hide it from all of you. The short time frame also hid our plans.’

‘Two weeks? You have organized an entire wedding in two weeks? A Tyrell style wedding?’

‘Actually, we had eight days, from the day he proposed to the morning of the wedding. So it was more like seven days.’

‘Heavens. That’s not possible. How did you manage that?’

‘Well actually, Sansa managed it almost entirely herself. While helping me prepare the funerals as well’, Willas bragged.

Alerie’s eyes were wide when she looked at Sansa.

As Sansa averted her face to hide her burning cheeks, she hoped that this would impress Alerie enough to let her drop the point. A futile hope, it appeared.

‘I only worry because it went so quickly. And because the match is so politically charged. I fear for your sister when Queen Cersei…’

‘What is she going to do Alerie? The Small Council is filled to the brim with our men, and Tommen is in our hands. She is powerless.’

‘People don’t need power to acquire poison or a mercenary. Only money’, Alerie pointed out.

‘She already wants our girl dead, Willas marrying a Stark will not change anything about that’, Olenna sighed.

Alerie looked thoroughly unhappy. But Sansa wasn’t hurt or afraid by her coldness anymore.

_She’s a mother who has lost half of her children, and is afraid of losing another. When faced with such grief and fear, how can she be happy?_

‘I’m afraid that much is true. I wish there was a way to ensure her safety for good’, Alerie sighed. ‘But keeping her safe is up to Mace now. I need to trust him.’

Olenna, Sansa and Willas shared a look, but let the comment pass.

‘What is done is done. Let Mace be angry about it’, Alerie decided with a weary voice.

‘You are happy, Willas?’

And suddenly Sansa understood. None of Alerie’s critiques had been about _her_. It had been about her beloved son going behind her back. There was the fear of her daughter being punished for the wedding. It had been about her enacting Mace’s will in his absence. And finally it had been about her fear of her family being betrayed or hurt by a stranger she didn’t know.

‘Yes. Very’, he answered, holding Sansa’s hand tighter. 

‘Good. Sansa, dearest, would you be so kind as to take a walk around the library with me?’

Sansa nodded and the others quickly got that the discussion was over.

Willas patted her hand comfortingly as he turned towards Elinor.

‘I did not know you would be escorting my sister home?’ Willas asked the young couple.

‘During the days of the trial, things got bad. And they were already awful to begin with’, Elinor replied. ‘Leonette was very nervous. Suddenly we were all taken away, and with her husband gone as well. She was very scared indeed. When Lord Tarly returned us I kept her company since I was the second oldest, and the closest to being married. Queen Margaery of course does know what it is like to be married, but we saw it fit not to trouble her too much. Then our trial came, and with it – I suppose there’s no use in hiding it – the result of our failed maidenhead tests. Margaery of course, could be excused. Me and Megga not so much. King’s Landing is filled with angry poor people nowadays. All of them loathing the rich, believing we think ourselves above the law. So we thought it would be a good gesture to show some devoutness and penance. Give the people some reason to trust us, and through us Lady Margaery.’

Alyn took Elinor’s hand.

Alerie’s face turned even sadder as she smoothed her dress before standing. Sansa stood up as well. She wished she could hear the end of Elinor’s story.

She felt sympathy for the girl. She had been engaged for almost a year, and although fond of flirting she had also been very fond of her betrothed. Other girls her age were already married, and she had expected to marry. Under normal circumstances no one would have found out.

‘We agreed we marry as soon as possible, even without Alyn being knighted. My reputation is currently quite tarnished. We shouldn’t have, of course, but we thought it was innocent to… We were already betrothed’, Elinor struggled, her free hand going up to push her hair back.

While Alyn started explaining his plans on joining the army to earn his knighthood after the wedding, Alerie nodded at Sansa to follow.

‘I hope you understand that the circumstances of your wedding made me suspicious. It’s my duty to ensure that my children are safe and well.’

‘I understand’, Sansa agreed quietly.

Alerie descended the stairs, back to the second floor. They were not to be heard.

‘When did you start talking to my son?’

‘I met him in the kennel shortly after my arrival. But he didn’t introduce himself and I, though silly it may be, didn’t know who he was. The second time I met him was when your ladyship had already left. We played a game of cyvasse in the gardens. I again didn’t know it was him. That only came later.’

‘You didn’t know’, Alerie said in surprise.

‘We liked each other immediately without knowing who the other was. On a friendship level, of course. Romance only came much later. After the Solstice Competition.’

‘Yes, I did hear of that. I dreaded to hear about that day. When news finally reached me, it reported the day had passed without incident, my son able to jump over a trench and participate in a dance. I didn’t think he could ever do that. And all of that beside a beautiful bastard girl.’

Sansa blushed.

‘How did you manage?’

‘I pulled him over the trench. And covered it up by pretending to hug him. The people must have known it was because he would have fallen, but they decided to keep an eye shut to it.’

‘But they’re such gossips normally.’

‘I was one of them. Working alongside them every day. I would not like to boast, but according to some I am well liked by all servants and people.’

‘And the dance?’

‘I danced around him, and managed to get him to participate with a few easy non-straining moves.’

‘And you decided that was the moment to fall for him?’

Sansa blushed.

‘It has been so gradual. Of course, I found him handsome and kind in the beginning. And very smart and well-read.’

Alerie nodded, greedily swallowing the compliments.

‘And I worked together with him every day for the winter preparations. Thinking for hours of ways to help the Reach prepare for winter, carrying out his decisions. And you could just see how much he cared for his people and – ’

‘Sansa, I get it. I know my son. But are you saying you were behind the winter preparations?’

‘Partially’, Sansa nodded.

Alerie became quiet for a while.

‘I should have known that such winter policies could only come from a Stark. Willas, and Maester Lomys didn’t think of all those measures the past few winters. They had to come from somewhere else. Olenna probably knew, didn’t she? Oh she’ll gloat again. How I was too stupid to see it while she did.’

‘She knew. But not because of that’, Sansa admitted.

‘Then how?’

‘She believed that if I had disappeared from King’s Landing, there weren’t many places I could go to. She reasoned I had to go to my family. Lord Baelish left King’s Landing at the same time as me, and appeared in the Vale with a daughter nobody had heard of of my age. That was suspicious. Especially as Lady Lysa accepted me while a highborn woman usually doesn’t accept the bastard children of the man she marries.’

Alerie looked quite unhappy.

‘Put that way it seems almost silly that I didn’t notice that.’

‘It was a very busy time. You had a lot of worries. Nobody examined it so closely. Lord Baelish knew what he was doing’, Sansa comforted her.

‘I fear that man so much. He always made me feel uncomfortable, he has that thing in his eyes. That cold glimmer that causes your heart to shiver?’ Alerie asked.

‘I know just what you mean, my lady.’

‘Oh, I already call you Sansa. Would you mind calling me mother, dear? I feel like I’ve been robbed of my children and that makes me feel a bit more like a mother.’

‘Of course, mother’, Sansa answered. It still felt like being unfaithful to her mother, but she could get over that. Her mother was death after all, despite the rumours. And even if she hadn’t died, she had raised her to marry into another family. She was always going to have a second mother.

Sansa couldn’t replace her mother. But she did long for one.

Perhaps in the same way Alerie wouldn’t be able to replace her sons, but longed to have a family again.

Alerie gave her a small smile before she turned towards one of the high windows stretching from the first floor of the library to the second. Outside gardeners were harking together fallen leaves.

‘So you two spent a lot of time together. In such close proximity. Both working so hard for our people. You saving him everywhere he feared he’d fail.’

Alerie’s gaze grew distant as she puzzled together the story.

‘And then he asked you to marry him?’

‘He did consider all practical objections before asking. It wasn’t just romantic or spurred on by grief. Willas would never rashly decide upon something that would harm his family.’

‘It does sound like my boy after all. Trying to do things his way while still being mindful of others. It was only that from the outside it didn’t look like that’, Alerie said. She finally sounded relieved.

They talked some more afterwards, but the tone changed drastically before they eventually went up again.

The group had their tea and wine over amiable conversation. When Willas stood to stretch his legs with Raymas, Elinor quickly went over to Sansa.

‘Do you happen to know where Leonette is?’

‘The crypts.’

Elinor nodded. There were dark blotches underneath her eyes.

‘The poor thing. We didn’t hear for days’, Elinor told, her eyes flitting to the others in the room to check whether anyone was paying her attention.

‘We were at Bitterbridge when we heard. Four days after. Just imagine the poor dear, last she heard of him he was moving to Oldtown, next she heard was that he’d died. She hadn’t even been able to write to him in weeks. She could only receive his letters. Had to ask Lord Willas to tell him the news. She doesn’t even know whether Garlan ever even knew he was going to be a father. She didn’t stop crying for days. Didn’t sleep. Refused to eat. We managed to convince her to eat and sleep for the babe, that seemed to work. I hope by the time he’s born she’ll be through the worst of it. It’ll need a mother.’

Sansa had to admit the joy of a child seemed a lot less bright when a mother couldn’t share it with a father. A child that had the burden of being a lord upon birth, no father to guide him, and a keep that was occupied.

‘We heard about you, yesterday. We couldn’t bear to tell her. She’d fallen into her mother’s arms that morning and hadn’t stopped weeping, begging her mother not to marry her to another soon. It seemed inappropriate to tell her of another couple’s happiness, given that she’d just lost hers.’

Sansa nodded.

‘And are you alright?’

‘Me?’ Elinor asked in surprise. Her hair fell in front of her face, and she put it away impatiently. ‘Compared to everyone else I’m the luckiest girl on earth. I’m in good health, and my betrothed is alive. Alyn has lost his favourite uncles, you know? Of course you do. Willas has probably talked of their deaths as well. Megga is in deep trouble. Margaery is terribly unhappy and afraid.’

The girl shook her head, which pulled her hair loose again.

Sansa regretted thinking of them as spoiled inexperienced girls. Experience only brought sadness, and she was too familiar with it to wish it upon anyone.

She pushed back Elinor’s veil and started braiding alongside her head, starting at one ear and going alongside her forehead to the other, until all short strands along her face were neatly tucked away.

‘Thank you. I know I don’t deserve it. I’ve been such a stupid girl.’

‘So was I once’, Sansa said softly.

Elinor smiled sadly.

‘What happened? You never struck me as such. You were always so gentle and quiet.’

‘Receiving a beating for everything and nothing will make anyone wary’, Sansa smiled joylessly.

After tea everyone was pushed outside by Alerie, who wanted to speak to the couple alone.

‘How will we go forth now? Duty-wise.’

‘I leave that up to you and Sansa. My duties don’t change’, Willas said.

‘You are still the Lady of Highgarden’, Sansa said calmly. ‘I will do only what you want and permit me to do.’

‘I’m more than capable of doing my tasks, but if you wish to learn, so it will be easy to get into the role once my time comes then you are welcome to accompany me. Willas and Mace have been working together similarly for some years now.’

Willas stiffened at his mother’s mention of her own mortality.

Her poor dear. She wanted to put her arms around him.

‘I would be honoured and grateful.’

Lady Alerie’s smile was flat and sad, but her eyes were understanding and offered as much comfort as a hug.

‘No doubt our arrival has ruined your day. Poor dears. A newly wedded couple should be able to have at least a week to themselves.’

‘Grandmother beat you to that. And I will never be sorry for your arrival home’, Willas said.

‘ I’ll make sure you won’t be bothered tomorrow. We can always catch up another day. I’m not going anywhere.’

She kissed Willas on his cheek and Sansa on her forehead before she left the room.

Willas deflated, sinking back into the green couch.

‘I need to see Leonette. It’s been hours.’

‘What did she need Garlan’s hair for?’

‘She still has a necklace with a strand of her grandmother’s hair, she wears it whenever she misses her. Says it’s comforting to be able to see a physical aspect of her. She doesn’t want to forget with time.’

Sansa wished for it as well. Already the contours of her father’s face were fading, his face having become not what he looked like around his death, but a combination of his looks throughout all Sansa’s memories, older and younger versions of his face mingling. Could she even remember the exact shade of his hair and point it out when she saw it on another person?

‘She wanted to be alone.’

‘But she shouldn’t be. I wanted to be alone, and I was better off with you.’

Sansa nodded.

‘But I fear she’ll refuse me, given that I’m married and she’s lost Garlan. It seems terribly unfair and cruel to comfort her while I am basking in love, filled with the prospect of being married for many years.’

‘She didn’t seem particularly jealous.’

‘She isn’t. But I’m afraid it’ll sting nonetheless. Some brother I must seem, marrying so shortly after their deaths.’

‘You needed comfort.’

Willas nodded.

‘So many stairs’, he sighed.

‘I could go and get her?’ Sansa offered. ‘If she wants to talk, I’ll get her upstairs and leave you alone.’

She knew grief, especially such a one, was too intimate to share with relative strangers.

‘Lady Leonette?’ Sansa asked, noticing the flicker of candlelight in the distance. Yet she saw no figure of a person as she moved closer, walking on the tips of her toes so her footsteps wouldn’t sound too heavy. The place, especially in the dark with little light, felt too sacred for noise.

‘Here’, a voice answered quietly.

Leonette sat in front of the sculpture of her husband, golden-brown strands of hair wrapped around her fingers.

‘They opened the tomb. I didn’t look. Didn’t need to see. It’s been too long and I’m afraid I’ll get nightmares. But now at least I have something of him to carry with me always’, she smiled, her fingers tenderly brushing the hair.

That had been on a dead person’s head hours ago. The thought didn’t sit easy with her, but it didn’t horrify her either.

‘A wise idea.’

‘You think so?’

Her voice sounded so lost. Had she sounded so lost before?

‘I had to watch my father. Every day. As his head was upon a stake in the full summer sun. It wasn’t pretty. This will be prettier but… A dead body is not a beautiful thing. Especially after two weeks.’

Leonette nodded.

‘Did you see him? Willas said the bodies could be seen.’

‘Yes. I went with Willas.’

‘God, to see your own brother… oh the thought of seeing Raymas in such a manner.’

Leonette shivered.

‘Was he alright?’

‘Ser Garlan looked very well, even in death. That is true.’

‘How did he die?’

Sansa feared the knowledge would haunt her, but she very much understood her. She’d felt the same powerlessness when her family died so far away, without her being able to do anything or say goodbye. But it gave her comfort to know details of their deaths. It gave her the final piece of them she had missed.

‘He had been guarding the gate, but after it was sacked he led his men into the city to fight there. Ser Loras rushed in at daybreak to help. A witness said they’d been fighting together back to back when he last saw them. They killed the last ironborn. But went down with them.’

‘Sounds so much like Garlan and Loras’, Leonette smiled, pulling a part of her many skirts up to dab at her eyes.

‘I’m sorry. I’m crying so much these days. Just hearing or saying their names gets me started’, Leonette explained.

‘That’s normal. You loved them.’

Sansa hadn’t been allowed the relief of crying or being sad in public. She hadn’t been able to live through her emotions. But she would have wanted to. Oh, how she had wanted to scream and shout. Tear dresses and throw vases and curse everyone involved in their murder.

‘I did. I do. I love him. I can’t imagine not loving him. I can’t imagine living without him. Isn’t it weird that a part of me is crying while at the same time I still can barely believe he’s dead? Every day I wake up and my first thought is that he isn’t here anymore. And it feels so weird. So wrong.’

Leonette looked up at his statue, tears streaming down her face.

‘This place was empty. I’d only come down here once, because Garlan wanted to show me what his grandfather looked like. And now everything’s done already. We didn’t even have plans to decorate it yet… All it needs is my sculpture and bones now’, Leonette cried.

‘How did you do it? Lose your whole family? I feel like my whole heart’s been ripped out. And either today or tomorrow I’ll bleed out. But I never do. I’m still here. But it hurts. So much. I think I’ll die of it. And I want to. But I don’t. Because then his legacy dies. Or this little babe is without mother.’

Sansa nodded.

‘But the thought of living until I’m as old as Olenna. All alone. Having to go all that time without him. I can’t bear it. How can anyone bear it?’

‘I wanted to die’, Sansa spoke softly, sitting down beside Leonette.

She saw the look of understanding in Leonette’s eyes.

‘What was I living for? My whole family was dead, my home was stolen, and every day on top of my sorrow I was tortured and taunted. No silver lining in sight.’

Leonette’s lip wobbled as she listened, wiping her tears away with shaking hands.

‘I wasn’t allowed the pleasure of dying. Dying meant nothing bad could happen anymore, and nothing worse would happen. I was dragged out of my room and forced to smile and talk badly of my poor dead family. While that was awful, I did learn life goes on. I didn’t want it to. I wanted to sit in my room and cry all day. But it went on. And I had to move on. I didn’t have the luxury of thinking about it all the time. But perhaps that was bliss. Because as I talked to you and Margaery, I wasn’t thinking about my loss. As I was being angry at the Lannisters, I wasn’t crying until I got a headache. It didn’t feel as painful as when I was alone. It confused me. Because I wanted the pain. I wanted the sadness. And I hated having to do other things.’

Leonette rested her cheek on Sansa’s shoulder. Her arms coming around Sansa’s arm, clinging on for support. Sansa was startled by the amount of trust.

‘But then I also thought I would never know another happy moment. But I was wrong, those happy moments did come. I am here. And had things ended then, I never would have known a moment of happiness again. I deserved happiness. I deserved to live. And had I died nobody would have lived to remember them like I did. His death won’t be forgotten. Willas and I will do our best to make sure no family will have to be torn apart like ours again.’

Leonette nodded.

‘So I’m glad I lived. Because I can make things right. For them, myself and others. And it’s all fuelled by it. Everything is fuelled by my love and grief. I miss them still. I still miss them just as much. If I focus on it, it’ll still reduce me to tears. But it doesn’t consume me anymore. That takes a lot of time though.’

Leonette slipped away from Sansa’s shoulder to bury her head between her drawn-up knees.

‘I know I have to live. But I don’t want to. Just for now, I really don’t want to. And I don’t want new nice experiences and new love. It feels unfaithful. It sickens me. Loras always said that when the sun has set, no candle can replace it. He was right. I’m almost envious of him. He was only alone for less than a year. And they’re together now. In death. No new experiences. No new heartache. It’s been enough. He never got better after his death. He was always seeking his own. Not that he’d been particularly careful in the past, but he was really reckless. Somewhere, it felt right. He wouldn’t have survived another death that wasn’t his own’, Leonette said.

Sansa could hear her drawing a shaky breath before her back hunched with a sob.

‘I’m saying way too much. I apologize. I seem to be incapable of doing anything but crying and talking of the dead.’

‘It’s alright.’

‘I don’t usually speak this much to strangers… Not that you’re a stranger, you’re family now. You knew them. And frankly, if there’s anyone who knows how to live when their whole life has been destroyed and everyone has been taken from them, it’s you. I do apologize for asking and saying so much. I think somewhere, I hoped you had an answer. A way to survive.’

‘I wish I did.’

Leonette breathed in and out slowly, unsteadily, before she lifted her head. She took her time to wipe away the tears running over her red cheeks.

She recognized the final breath she let out before righting her shoulders and looking to Sansa. She had composed herself.

‘We weren’t in a place to talk freely before. Our interactions were watched through a political lens so we couldn’t get too close without arousing suspicion. But if you ever want to talk, I can listen. Perhaps it might even comfort us both, sharing loss. Unless it doesn’t and reopens old wounds. Does my talking make you feel worse? About your family?’ she asked, suddenly fearful.

‘It reminds me of how I felt back in those first few days.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘No, it’s good to talk about it. Aside from some small conversations with Willas, I never really had the opportunity.’

‘How brutally you were treated’, Leonette muttered.

‘Elinor doesn’t understand. I’m so glad she is willing to listen but I can’t help but feel she’s afraid of me, and for me. She barely says a word to me, like she is afraid every topic will insult me and every word shall shatter me. She’s blessed. Her whole family is alive.’

‘She is aware of her blessings.’

‘Good. She should value them. I always thought I had forever. And then I lost it. And apparently I had lost it even before I knew it. The poets say you always feel it when you lose your beloved. But I didn’t.’

‘Sometimes a song is just a song. Exaggerated and romanticized’, Sansa answered.

‘Oh bah, you sound just like Willas. I thought you were a romantic.’

‘I was. I am. But I’m also a realist.’

‘There’s the follow-up sentence.’

She looked back at Sansa. Falling silent.

‘Why did you come down here? Oh, oh dear. I’ve been talking to you for so long. I’m needed, aren’t I?’ she asked, quickly rising and brushing off her skirts.

‘Willas worries for you. He wants to see you.’

Leonette nodded, picking up her candle.

‘Of course he does. Poor Willas. He lost his brothers and his best friend. They always – oh but you know, don’t you?’ she asked sadly as she met Sansa’s eyes.

‘I know how close Willas and Garlan were, though not as good as you. I’ve only known Willas for about three moon turns. You probably have a lot to tell me about them I don’t know.’

Leonette smiled, hooking her arm through Sansa’s.

‘I do. All good, of course. I must tell you some stories about them someday.’

She smiled as they walked out of the crypts, Leonette’s sturdy outside boots echoing through the underground tunnels.

‘How pleasant it would have been. Me and Garlan, you and Willas, and Margaery and Loras, all being a tightknit family spending the days together. I had already worked out our whole dynamic. You would be closest to Margaery, because you already were in King’s Landing. Margaery and I would have gone to all the balls and social affairs. You and Willas would have been like exasperated old parents with Margaery and Loras. And Garlan and I would drop in all the time from our castle. And we two would play harp together, while Loras and Garlan were out practising, and Willas reading a book and asking us to stop giggling.’

Leonette sighed. It sounded as idyllic as it sounded probable, had they all lived. But through the nostalgia and grief, Sansa also saw opportunity to fulfil a tiny part of the dream. And in that opportunity; a chance to distract Leonette.

‘How quickly it all went downhill’, Leonette muttered.

‘I would love to play the harp better. I never got another lesson after I left King’s Landing.’

‘Didn’t you? That’s a waste. You had natural talent. We have a music room here, and instruments in all sitting rooms.’

‘I noticed.’

‘We should play. Willas loves the sound. No doubt it’ll delight him to hear you play.’

‘I would like that’, Sansa agreed.

‘And then perhaps you could teach me how to improve my embroidery. Currently I don’t have the heart for it. I try to distract myself with it, but I’m always reminding myself what I’m trying to distract myself from and then I start hating myself for not mourning.’

‘Don’t hate yourself for that. Nobody could want you to lie still and cry forever. By now at least half of the people must have loved someone near them. Had all those people locked themselves up or died of despair, the realm would be virtually empty.’

‘Garlan wouldn’t get over my death.’

‘But you aren’t over his death. You’re just… living. You can’t be blamed for living. He sacrificed his life so people could live.’

‘I selfishly wish he didn’t. He was always so brave. Never searching death, but not quite keeping himself out of harm’s way either. If he’d fought from the back, or only done his duty and nothing more, perhaps I’d still have him with me.’

Sansa knew the if-questions all too well.

If only she hadn’t told Cersei. If her father had worked along. If Robb hadn’t married Jeyne Westerling. If her brother and mother hadn’t gone to the Twins. If Walder Frey had had dignity and respected the ancient customs. It never lead to anything.

‘You’re lucky, you know? You can sleep assured that Willas will never be able to run towards danger. His legs keep him. His father forbids him. An heir isn’t allowed to risk his life. And even if he wanted to, he couldn’t anymore.’

That was true. She had told Willas as much during one of their first conversations. A living husband with a damaged leg was far superior to a dead body or a husband constantly away risking his life. But on the other hand she knew how powerless and helpless Willas often felt. And how much his leg hurt him. If it were up to her she would rather have Willas be whole again, just for himself and his own pleasure. But she was glad it wasn’t a choice, Willas was stuck in Highgarden, safe. And she would get to grow old with him.

‘I am sure Willas does not consider himself lucky’, Sansa answered calmly.

‘Men, they don’t know what’s good for them. Except where wives are concerned. In that case Highgarden men have a particularly good taste.’

By the time they arrived at the library, her face wasn’t red anymore.

Sansa hoped it would stay that way for a little more.

Sansa sank through her knees in front of Willas that night. He sat on their bed, hands buried in his dark hair. After yesterday, he should have relaxed. Instead he’d done more stairs and miles than he should’ve. Pain was etched on his face as he massaged the muscles around his knee.

‘She’ll never be able to get over this.’

Sansa pulled on his boot, easing it off. And then the next.

‘She’ll get over it as much as you’, Sansa said. ‘Never completely.’

‘But she… I couldn’t stand to see her cry so much.’

She leaned her elbows on her husband’s lap, looking up at him.

‘You were discussing Garlan, how can she not cry?’ asked Sansa. ‘It has only been two weeks.’

‘But I can’t _not_ talk about it.’

Sansa went to side beside him, softly pushing his black embroidered coat from his shoulders.

‘Why not? You both know he died, and you both know the other mourns his death.’

‘Then what do we talk about?’ he asked as he helped her get the coat off his shoulders. He started on the rose buttons of his padded doublet.

‘You don’t have to talk. Sometimes not being alone is enough. Or perhaps there is a game she likes to play?’

‘A game? Sansa, she just lost her husband.’

‘And she thinks about that every second of the day. Allow her to not think about him for a short while. You’re able to keep busy with work or me, she doesn’t.’

Willas nodded.

‘That makes sense. I will.’

The compliment was like a pat on the head. Sansa beamed at him.

‘How are you?’ he asked, ‘I’ve noticed mother started talking to you twice. And so did Elinor and Leo. I didn’t know whether I was supposed to help.’

‘Your mother wanted understand how everything came to be. Elinor wanted to apologize for her treatment of me. And Leonette, well. She wanted to talk about Garlan.’

‘How did Elinor treat you?’

‘It is fine,’ Sansa shrugged.

‘I want to know’, he pressed.

‘Turn around please’, he asked softly. She did, turning her back to him so he could start on her laces.

‘You know, perhaps, how your sister and her entourage took me in when they first arrived at court.’

‘I do’, Willas confirmed, his hands softly sliding between her hair to take the pins out.

‘All that love for me was immediately dropped when I was married to Tyrion. Apparently they had only been kind because I was about to marry you. They didn’t care for me. Or so it felt. They didn’t talk to me from that moment on. Only Leonette and Garlan approached me and Tyrion.’

‘That’s unkind. And what was her excuse for this?’

‘They thought I had slighted their family, and insulted them by preferring a Lannister dwarf over the heir of Highgarden. But they could clearly see I was unhappy, even fools knew it was not my choice.’

‘You forgive that behaviour?’

He brushed her hair over her shoulder.

A memory flashed by, of her and Jeyne mocking Arya during needlework, or running away from her when she wanted to join.

‘She was a naïve stupid girl. I believe she’s wiser now.’

‘She better be’, Willas growled. He pressed his lips against the back of her neck.

Her eyes slipped shut at the soft gesture.

‘I’m sorry I couldn’t give you a perfect wedding, or even one day of relaxation afterwards.’

‘Life isn’t a song’, Sansa replied as Willas peeled open her dress.

‘I have you. We’ll get our quiet days.’

‘Or we don’t’, he answered darkly.

Sansa pulled up her skirts, and Willas pulled the dress over her head.

‘But we have today. And tomorrow’, she answered. She did sorely want more. And she wanted to hope for more too. But after everything, it was difficult to be hopeful. There would be another war. In the midst of winter.

‘We agreed to take every moment we got’, Willas remembered.

His hands came around Sansa’s waist, dragging her to his lap.

She could see in his eyes he was still struggling to let it go. It felt inappropriate to be happy and enjoy their time together. But at the same time she couldn’t help the burning in her belly when he looked at her that way. She wanted to enjoy their time.

‘Let’s take it then’, he decided.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leonette had to pass her family home on her way to Highgarden, Alerie was still there. Would be odd not to take her along, wouldn't it? 
> 
> So, how are we feeling about this?


	24. Business

_‘To Lord Yohn Royce, Lord of Runestone,_

_I write to you because I don’t know who else to turn to.’_

Sansa sighed, tapping her quill on the table.

‘That sounds quite desperate. Doesn’t it?’

‘So?’ Willas asked, sitting beside her at the desk.

‘I don’t know. It looks strange. And how do I continue from this?’ Sansa asked.

‘Now that I am finely safe and married, I am finally at liberty to speak of the secrets that I have for so long been forced to carry’, Willas suggested.

Sansa nodded, repeating the sentence in her head as she wrote it.

‘I did not wish to keep these secrets, but as you know Lord Baelish is a dangerous enemy. So, for as long as I was underneath his roof, I had to keep my mouth shut’, Sansa explained as she continued writing.

‘That sounds about right. Comes across like you were a very unwilling accomplice. And it makes him understand why you didn’t speak up before.’

‘I know you were one of the few brave man who dared to stand up against him, and are highly esteemed in the Vale, which is why I am writing to you.’

Willas nodded, encouraging her.

On his side of the desk lay some two dozen files he had to sort through before appointing four new household positions, as the old servants had either retired or decided to quit. One hour, and then they could get back to their time off.

_‘Justice needs to be brought to Lord Baelish. I know he has plagued the Vale, and many are looking for valid reasons to dispose of him. Following is the list of his crimes I know of._

  1. _He was the one who instructed Lady Lysa Arryn to poison her husband with Tears of Lys, which he supplied her. Lady Lysa complied because she was in love with Lord Baelish, and he had promised her they could be together afterwards. She confessed this the night she died._
  2. _Lord Baelish tried to poison Lord Tyrion Lannister. To do this, he had Ser Dontos gift me a hairnet, who told me to wear it on the wedding of King Joffrey Baratheon. I was unaware of its purpose, but wore it as it fit with my dress. Afterwards, Lord Baelish told me the net was made of Amethysts from Asshai. During the wedding, a servant had detached one of the amethysts and crumbled it over Lord Tyrion’s piece of wedding pie. I was told the effect of the poison would have caused my then Lord Husband to choke. When King Joffrey ate of his uncle’s pie however, he was the one who died instead. This makes Lord Baelish the true murderer of the king. As proof, I have added the hairnet as I took it with me to Highgarden, knowing it would one day be useful._
  3. _Lord Baelish spirited me away from King’s Landing on the day of King Joffrey’s murder. He did this to save me, for which I was grateful. However, he instructed me to take on the alias of his bastard child. And by hiding my identity together with Lady Lysa, I became solely dependent on them. I had to comply with all his plans and lies, as I had no one to turn to. Later knowledge of his love for my mother Lady Catelyn Stark, his involvement in the deaths of my aunt and uncle, and the fact that he tried to kill my husband filled me with fear though. I was afraid when he would turn on me, or what he planned to do with me._
  4. _Lord Baelish killed my aunt, the Lady Lysa Arryn. On the night of her murder, Lady Lysa ordered the singer Marillion to bring me to her. There she accused me of being interested in the singer. Which was not true, but that is unimportant. To stop the conversation from being overheard, she ordered Marillion to sing. Lord Baelish arrived though, and threw my aunt out of the moon door. He forced me to lie about who killed Lady Lysa, and why. I was in no position to tell the truth._
  5. _Lord Baelish knowingly feeds Lord Robin too much dreamwine and milk of the poppy, despite knowing this weakens him considerably. I could never understand the reason for this, as he had no child with Lady Lysa that could inherit the Vale. However, he did plan on marrying me to Ser Harrold Hardyng, who is next in line should Lord Robin come to die. He planned this while I was still married to Lord Tyrion. One can only wonder how many murder he planned to make this happen. I do not doubt the price of my freedom would have been letting Lord Baelish rule the Vale through us.’_



‘Would you mind reading it and letting me know what you think?’ Sansa asked, shoving the paper over to his side before coming to stand beside him.

Willas accepted the paper, eyes roving over it. His mouth pulled to either side, moving up and down to indicate approval, doubt or worry.

‘Mhm. Are you sure you want to be this open.’

‘I’m afraid I need to be. Why? Is there anything incriminating in it for me?’ she asked as she sat down on the inch of mahogany desk that wasn’t covered with parchment and paper.

Willas looked up at her with a curious glimmer in his eyes.

‘Well, as you said, there’s not a thing you can say about him without being an accomplice by remaining silent for so long’, he mused. ‘Perhaps a phrase about how you couldn’t live with yourself if you didn’t come clean at the earliest possibility. You’re writing this letter only two days after your marriage. You had to marry to be safe first’, Willas replied, looking up at her with a clever smile.

‘But won’t you possibly get in trouble? For knowing this and not contacting the crown.’

He chewed on his cheek, his hands softly stroking her leg.

‘You could say you didn’t tell me.’

‘So I would hide it from my husband? And the maesters wouldn’t report if I sent a letter to a faraway lord?’ Sansa tested.

‘Highgarden has awful security’, Willas replied, lifting his eyebrows in surprise.

‘That’s not a good excuse. If that were true, more news would have leaked before. About me. About your family, and so on.’

He turned his chair towards her, licking his lips.

‘That’s true’, Willas admitted.

He leaned his elbows on her lap. Something heated up inside her belly as he looked up at her.

‘Then we have two choices left. Either your husband knows and encourages you to contact someone from the Vale to see that justice be done as he believes the people of the Vale have the first right to trial Lord Baelish. Or your husband feared it would reopen old wounds in an already unstable King’s Landing and thought that Lord Yohn could deliver justice discreetly.’

Sansa nodded.

Willas laid his head down on her lap, fingers trailing tantalizingly slow lines upon her thigh.

‘Or, I scrap the part about him poisoning Joffrey, that way King’s Landing doesn’t have to know.’

‘It’s the only thing you have proof of. Once you procure proof of one thing, your other claims immediately get more credibility’, Willas replied, looking up again.

‘I know. But it’s also his biggest crime, and one that will leak, if I write about it.’

‘You could leave out the part how Joffrey died of it.’

‘Then they would ask me what I supply the net for, as Tyrion didn’t die at the wedding.’

‘There is one other thing’, Sansa admitted. ‘By admitting aunt Lysa attacked me because she was jealous of the attention Lord Baelish gave me, I could write how she tried to throw me out of the Moon Door. I lost a slipper during the fight. Perhaps it could still be found on the mountains.’

‘Then there’s proof Lady Lysa wasn’t thrown out by Marillion.’

‘Baelish could argue that only means you were involved in the fight. He could say he covered up for you murdering Lysa.’

‘That is true. But then he’s guilty of covering it up. And what reason would he have to cover it up? I murdered his wife, by all accounts a normal man would be furious. Not cover it up. He held all the power, I none.’

‘It’s Lord Baelish though, he always finds a way.’

‘Lord Baelish told me Marillion died. But someone else said they still heard him. Lord Royce wanted to speak to him still. It was perhaps convenient he died. If he died’, Sansa muttered. It annoyed her she had such a hard time to separate right from wrong. What had been the truth? Littlefinger kept her in the dark for so long.

‘We need to think this through’, Willas decided, retiring his hands from her body.

Her lap felt cold, but her head cleared up considerably because of it.

‘What type of character is he? What would he do?’

Sansa bit away her smile breaking onto her lips.

‘Storm the castle, kill him himself seconds after world’s shortest trial.’

‘He would believe you? I know you said it before, but are you certain?’

‘I can never fully be sure. But he really wants Baelish gone. He doesn’t need a lot of encouragement.’

‘What would he do?’

‘Probably write that he demands a trial based on charges of murder, poisoning, conspiring and may the Gods know what else. Then he’d immediately start his march, picking up supporters on his way, all lords and ladies sympathetic to the cause. He’d hold a large showy trial.’

‘What if he would pick trial by combat?’

‘He does not have a Mountain in case of emergency. Besides, he wouldn’t rely on strength. He relies on words.’

‘A trial by faith means procuring proof and witnesses. Are there any?’

‘There’s the hairnet, perhaps the shoe. Perhaps Marillion. I don’t know.’

‘Do not endanger yourself more than you have to. I rather have you safe than him imprisoned or dead’, Willas pleaded.

‘If the trial cannot prove his guilt, or worse, he manages to twist it so that you were the killer of both Lady Lysa and King Joffrey, we will have a tough time. The more we talk about this, the more I doubt it. I was looking forward to ridding ourselves of Lord Baelish, but it isn’t worth risking you.’

He pushed aside his paperwork, dragging her to the middle of his desk.

‘But don’t we have to try? What do you want me to do?’ she stuttered, taken aback by his actions.

Willas drew up her skirts, tracing his hand along her shin, past her knee, and towards her thigh.

‘I want you to take the safest course of action.’

He pressed a kiss on the inside of her thigh, right above her knee.

It sent a bolt straight to her core.

_What is he doing?_

‘Tell him you know of his desire to see Baelish gone. Tell him you have a lot of knowledge but little incriminating evidence, and wouldn’t want to proceed by giving it until you’re certain a case can be made of it so that the evidence cannot be misinterpreted.’

He pressed another kiss a little bit higher upon her thigh.

‘A classic case of: I’ll join you but only once you have something to offer.’

‘How do I ask that?’

He kissed her again. Her fingers tangled themselves into his hair intuitively. She could feel her heartbeat all the way down, pulsing.

She now recognized the feeling that had confused her so many times. Anticipation. Eagerness. _Lust_ , if she had to use an unladylike word for it.

What was she supposed to do? She didn’t know what he was doing. Was this a thing from the book she hadn’t read? She didn’t know whether she was supposed to place her legs or arms a certain way.

His beard tickled her sensitive flesh. His mouth opened as he breathed warmth against her leg. She wasn’t prepared for her thigh to get caught between his teeth when he closed his mouth.

‘Oh!’

His eyes flew up, pupils blown wide in a small sea of blue.

‘Hurts?’

‘Yes. No. I don’t know what…’

‘It’s supposed to feel a bit odd, but pleasurable. If I may?’

For research purposes, she nodded so she could check the feeling again now that she was prepared for it.

He dragged his cheek across her thigh before planting his lips down, the contrast between the soft brush of his lips after the drag of his coarse beard making her shiver. This time she wasn’t so shocked by the bite. Yet a part of her still jumped. It hurt only a little, but she also couldn’t deny that it made the heat in her core grow exponentially.

‘Good?’

‘I believe so’, she admitted quietly.

Her mother would already scold her for sitting on a desk, she didn’t want to think about what she would think of this.

‘You say, Lord Yohn, I understand you take issue with Lord Baelish. In case you consider starting a trial, if you have proof of any crime, I could perhaps add a testimony in case I overheard something useful. I also have some claims you could look into. But please refrain from making it widely known, otherwise you will give Lord Baelish time to prepare his defence. The evidence I have in and of itself is not enough to ensure his guilt, so you would need proof before you can work with my claims.’

‘Will that do?’

‘If you only send him your proof once he has proof in turn, he doesn’t have anything on you but some words. He has no reason to start a trial against you either. It doesn’t gain him anything. If you provide him your statements, it’s up to him to find further proof. Once he has it, you can send yours over. If he doesn’t find proof we can pretend the letter was faked and destroy the evidence.’

Sansa nodded.

‘Yes, t-that sounds very clever’, she stammered as he kissed her skin again.

‘Mhm.’

‘I have to write that still then, some five lines.’

‘You can do that any time’, Willas said against her leg, now dangerously close to the juncture of her legs.

‘What are you doing?’

‘Trust me. Allow me to try it, stop me if you dislike it.’

‘I-‘ He pushed up her skirts even more.

She felt completely exposed.

Looking around though, their room was completely abandoned and the door was locked. She was safe. And she could stop him if she liked.

She had unconsciously dug her fingers deeper into his hair, a satisfied hum made his lips buzz against her thigh.

She let out a deep sigh. His thumbs were rubbing in circles, massaging the underlying tissue and setting it aflame.

Her leg muscles trembled, the instinct to shut her legs still lingering.

A distant thought told her he shouldn’t be there where even she didn’t look at herself. She cast a glance downward, her face burning with shame at the view. His eyes were closed. She took a breath to calm her nerves, her own eyes slipping shut as well.

It was like the calm before the storm, there were no easy breaths or calm heartbeats the next few minutes.

Were they meant to do that? It felt _sinful_.

Her hips buckled.

‘W-ww.’

Her mouth refused to cooperate.

‘Stop?’ he asked gently.

‘Please’, was the only word she could get across her lips before her entire body convulsed at the loss of stimulation.

No immediate reaction came.

‘Willas’, she moaned.

His chair clattered backwards as he rose up to his full height as his arms encircled her.

She reached for him. The overwhelming need to feel him seized her fully. Her nails tore and pulled at the buttons, then she clawed at his shirt, pulling it free from his breeches. Willas was working on that piece himself, tugging it down impatiently.

She shoved her hands underneath his shirt, letting out a breath of relief as she found hot skin.

Willas groaned. The sound sending Sansa’s heartbeat racing.

She wanted to ask him about his leg, but her tongue had forgotten how to form words.

He yanked her to the edge, pressing himself against her.

The pressure in her groin was mounting. Becoming more like torture and more like blizz every minute.

‘Here?’

‘This is where I do my important business’, he smiled, his breath tickling her ear.

And then he united them. She still wasn’t used to the feeling. Shivering before he started stoking the fire within her with every thrust.

She pressed herself against him, her hands sliding over the hot skin of his back.

‘Put your legs around me’, he ordered breathlessly.

‘What?’

‘Your legs’, he suggested as he wrapped his hand around one of her thighs, lifting it ever so slightly.

She inched even more to the edge, wrapping her legs around his hips.

She gasped at the shift. He sank even deeper into her, their position offering her more delicious friction. It was an incredibly comfortable position.

Every thrust had her gasping for breath as she buried her face in his neck.

‘Good?’

‘Oh.’

‘Is that a yes?’ she could hear him smiling. But he was struggling just as much to talk.

‘Mhm.’

His hand reached down between them, increasing the pressure on her nether regions until she could barely tolerate it anymore.

‘Please. Please.’

The fire within her throbbed, begging for an outlet.

He slipped in a finger, stroking the tender flesh within her. Once, twice, thrice, and then she was done, tumbling over the edge. Her hips jerking up to meet his thrust a final few times.

She tried to keep her legs up, but they kept slipping over his behind.

‘Just-‘

Willas continued as she caught her breath, becoming aware of their bodies again.

The skin underneath her fingers changed in texture, becoming raised. The movements turned irregular. And finally, with a soft groan, all tension slipped out of Willas. She could feel his heartbeat inside of her, pulsing as he slumped on her.

Her arms tightened around him, holding him in place.

‘That was… you liked it?’ he panted, his voice rough.

‘Y-yes.’

‘Good. So did I.’

He lifted his head, pushing back his hair. His smile so loving she would melt if she wasn’t already burning from the exercise.

He pressed a kiss on her lips.

‘So uhm… Was my advice useful?’ he asked casually.

‘Oh, very. Thank you, my lord.’

‘Good.’

‘Good.’

She couldn’t help but laugh, going in for another kiss.

‘Thank you for helping me.’

‘The pleasure is mine, Lady Tyrell.’

He smiled at her, brushing some hair behind her ear.

‘I’m going to…’

‘Oh yes of course.’

He pulled away, taking a handkerchief out of his discarded coat and cleaning himself, redressing before he went to fetch another one for her.

‘Perhaps we should just uhm… Finish that letter?’ he suggested as he offered Sansa another one.

‘Right.’

‘I have a feeling I won’t get much else done today.’

‘Me too’, she confessed with a small smile.

Her eyes went to the clock.

‘And we don’t have much time either. We’re going to play that charade game with your family in an hour.’

‘Our family’, he corrected, coming back to hug Sansa once she slid down from the desk.

Sansa nodded.

‘Our family.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short one. I had more scenes planned originally but this piece was already so long I decided to just post this part. So enjoy and see you next weekend!
> 
> Also: i'm working on a sansa/willas holiday shortstory heh. Stay tuned if you're interested!


	25. Pieces in Motion

‘You have everything you need? Stamps, ink, wax, diplomatic gifts, enough guards? I can still add some’, Willas offered.

‘Enough mittens, coats, hats?’ Sansa suggested.

‘If I get one more rose embroidered pair of stockings and gloves from you, I’ll stuff your mouth with it’, Olenna warned Sansa.

Sansa understood, nodded, and took a step back.

Five boats awaited Olenna Tyrell in the harbour, two loaded with horses and wheelhouses so she could continue her trip in comfort through the Stormlands.

Given the relative secrecy of the mission no one was informed where Olenna went to, instead the whole matter was brushed off with the general excuse of a diplomatic tour. There was little fanfare to see her off, most had said their goodbyes the previous night.

‘Write to us every time you dock somewhere, alright?’ Willas commanded, even though with his grandmother he was smart enough to voice it as a question.

‘You want to know what the fishmongers and petty lords of Grassy Vale are doing?’

‘It’s never bad to know. And that way I know where you are and when and where to send my next letters to.’

‘I will, don’t fret so’, Olenna sighed, tapping her cane against Willas’.

‘Now. You two’, she said, looking at the couple. ‘Eat honey and cinnamon as often as you can, both of you. And you lady, eat a lot of fruit. Try every day, except when you bleed. And when you do, keep your legs up afterwards. The longer the better. I want at least as many great-grandchildren as I have children by the time I kick it. Making heirs is important work. It takes time and it deserves time’, Olenna nodded.

Sansa dipped her chin.

‘Yes, grandmother’, Willas answered politely.

‘And do make sure your wife relaxes. Stress has cost a great many women a great many babes.’

‘I’ll try to watch her workload’, Willas assured her.

‘I don’t doubt she can manage her work. It was a comment for you, boy. If you fret, she worries for you. You need to relax so she can relax.’

Sansa bit her tongue, watching Willas swallow the tough pill. Personally, she rather liked the trust Willas had for her, telling her everything he thought about. But she would be lying if she said she didn’t worry for her husband sometimes. He was growing stronger every day, but he still struggled.

‘If Lord Puff Fish finds out about what we’re doing and demands you stop, ignore him. Good. I’ll be off then, no doubt you’ll be relieved to have a bit less of my nagging’

‘Your presence is always a delight to us, grandmother’, Willas smiled as he helped her into the carriage.

With a final humorous snort, the Queen of Thorns was off on another adventure.

‘That was only mildly uncomfortable’, Willas mused as he walked through the gardens with Sansa after the departure.

‘It came from a good place’, Sansa smiled, inhaling the cold winter air.

‘A place of experience, no doubt.’

‘Well, her experience was successful. I don’t mind receiving guidance, awkward as it might be. I never got a lot of advice.’

‘I admit my experience was always focused on not getting women pregnant’, Willas admitted.

‘Perhaps that’s advice we can start looking at once we have enough children.’

‘That’ll be a while still. Given that three heirs has been just enough in my case.’

‘If I’m blessed like my mother, We’ll be done with that in two-and-ten years, Including two girls.’

‘If you’re blessed like my mother, we’ll be done in nine years, including one girl.’

‘Those are good odds, at least’, Sansa sighed.

She was excited to have children and a household of her own. The thought of being a mother thrilled her. Yet at the same time she was afraid. There was so much death around them, such insecurity. There were better circumstances than bringing babes into the world during a winter that would be filled with war.

Yesterday evening some players had depicted a part of the Dance of the Dragons in the main hall after dinner. She and Leonette had both gone pale when they acted out Queen Helaena having to choose between her two children. War was cruel to mothers. Their children fought and died, were slaughtered, sacrificed.

Sansa could only hope the play didn’t add to Leonette’s already stressed state. They had spent hours together every evening. She had no focus for books, and every time she tried to touch the harp she dissolved into tears because Garlan had loved it so. So they found small games to amuse themselves with, books that steered clear of both romance and tragedy, and took long walks through the castle and even through the city. Where she and Willas found comfort in privacy, Leonette thrived on interaction with others, gifting coins to small children and talking to women everywhere.

It were parts of her Sansa had never seen in the Red Keep, but well explained how she’d come to be so loved in the Reach. Sansa wished she could adopt her tactics. She’d used them in the past, even though that had been as Alayne Stone, not Sansa Tyrell. But she found that as a newly married Lady Tyrell, time was in rather short supply. Sansa wondered if Leonette would profit from a public role and purpose. After her pregnancy, of course.

‘You’re quiet’, Willas noted.

‘I’m just thinking… about children. With the war to come and all that. And those dragons… I really don’t feel comfortable with the idea that we could be roasted like in Harrenhall. In spite of all we do to work on peace.’

‘We don’t know what this queen wants. We can only reason that she will not gain a lot from burning all important families. It makes the people revolt, makes the realm unstable. I also doubt she’d burn the allies of her kin.’

‘I don’t know, the dance?’ Sansa asked.

‘History rarely repeats itself’, Willas assured her.

 _Then why do so many things look so familiar?_ Sansa wondered.

‘My lord!’ a servant called. The young man wore a coat five times too big for him, probably borrowed from Maester Lomys. It was Abel, the errand boy of the rookery. ‘A letter my lord, Maester Lomys says it is very important.’

Willas sighed beside her.

‘Very well, what is it?’ he politely asked.

The young man handed over the letter and took a step back.

Willas quickly read through the contents, eyebrows raising and dipping with concern.

‘Yes, thank you. Your services are no longer required. Ask maester Lomys to meet me in my solar.’

‘Yes, my lord’, the young man nodded, running away again.

‘What is it?’ Sansa asked once he was out of earshot.

‘It’s the Riverlands’, Willas explained, handing her the letter.

‘My uncle?’ Sansa asked as she took the letter.

She couldn’t have another family member dying. She had so few of them left. All her hope rested with one day meeting Edmure and becoming acquainted with the only person she had left. Well, Sweetrobin also counted, but he was a child. She had to write to Lord Edmure sometime soon. Even though it would be a loaded letter, given that she was now the future lady of the Reach and he someone illegally occupying Riverrun. It wouldn’t do her traitor reputation any good.

‘No. But it will impact him. In a good way’, Willas told her as she started reading.

_“To Lord Willas Tyrell,_

_Lord Walder Frey died the first day of the eighth month. Details unclear._

_His death led to a fight between opposing factions of the Frey family. Edwyn is the heir by right of birth but Black Walder has been trying to kill him and has declared Edwyn’s daughter the illegitimate bastard of intercourse he himself had with Edwyn’s wife. The two brothers demand the other Freys take sides. Both brothers have each taken in a tower of the twins. Passage has become impossible. The castle was mostly empty, all adult Freys went to Riverrun, accompanying Fair Walda for her marriage to Daven Lannister. Or later went to avenge their murdered kin. Most remaining were very young, very old, or low ranking and have fled the castle ensuing the dispute. I assume you are interested to hear the seven moonturns pregnant Roslin Frey and her brothers have been reported amongst those that have disappeared._

_Everyone was fleeing to get out, afraid of getting caught up in the war of succession. It was too chaotic to really pay attention to the events that unfolded. I do not know whether I can report much longer. Escaping Freys are murdered by wolves left and right. Talks of rogues in the woods are all around._

_Second day of the eight month,_

_Your humble servant E.”_

Sansa’s hands shook by the time she finished reading. More dead Freys.

‘He got what he deserved’, Sansa decided.

She hoped his death had been painful after the way he’d butchered her family, disgracing the ancient customs and laws of the land. She thanked the old gods and the new for delivering justice.

‘It also means that the largest ally to the crown is now weakened beyond measure. They won’t be able to besiege your uncle in Riverrun for much longer. There’s no leader to direct them, funds won’t be given until a new lord is named, and with winter around the corner it’ll become really hard to keep it up.’

Sansa nodded, biting her lip to keep from smiling. She dared not be enthusiastic, but it did make her hopeful.

‘You are not happy with the news?’

‘I am. I just… I’m careful. I’ll feel safe once there’s a new king who want the Riverlands and the north to get the stability and leadership they deserve. My uncle needs to be reinstated officially. Right now, I can imagine the Riverlands are divided between loyalists to the crown and loyalists to the Tully’s.’

‘Your uncle will have to swear to Aegon then. Aegon has no reason to hate or mistrust Lord Baelish yet.’

‘Let’s hope he’ll be dead by the end of the month’, Sansa smiled. ‘But yes. I know. It’s the best way to ensure it. I’ve never met him. So I don’t know how he is or how he thinks. But surely if he is a good and just ruler, he will bend the knee to keep his people safe from further war.’

‘I’ve written to him a couple of times. We sometimes exchanged goods. The Riverlands are to the North what the Reach is to the Crownlands. Yet we each have our specialties. We have fruits and they have nice woven fabrics. They’re also rich in silver, which our nobles like. He seems reasonable’, Willas shrugged.

‘You did?’

‘Yes. It just never came up before I guess. It was just business.’

‘How was he?’

‘It were dry business letters, not much personal conversation. I assume we both wrote so much to so many people we never tried getting to know even half of them. Suppose the closest we ever got was him making a joke about: “From one heir with a bad nickname to another.” Didn’t really appreciate the comment back then. But then I assume he doesn’t like his nickname either and was trying to bond’, Willas shrugged.

Sansa tried and failed not to laugh at the idea of the Floppy Trout and the Crippled Rose.

‘They will have to come up with new nicknames if you two turn out to be two of the few lords left standing after the war is over’, Sansa smiled.

‘Perhaps I can write him a letter “From one heir with a traitor wife to another.”

Sansa scowled at him.

‘Your wife’s family isn’t responsible for the murder of yours and your bannermen.’

‘Fair point. If she ever pops up again it will be an awkward marriage.’

‘Don’t see why she wouldn’t reappear’, Sansa said. ‘If I were her, I’d also escape. Before, her family kept her safe. Her husband was a prisoner and she had nowhere to go. But now Edmure has the castle and her family’s dying by the dozen.’

‘I wasn’t talking about whether she wanted to reappear. I meant that with those wolf packs and other Frey murders she might not make it.’

‘Oh’, Sansa muttered. That made sense.

Although she had little love for the Freys she did not wish her uncle ended up single and without heirs. He was in the exact position as Willas, even worse, since he had no pregnant sister-through-marriage who could be carrying an heir.

She let out a breath. It clouded in front of her, smoking upwards.

Now that the rain had stopped, it had gotten cooler, as Willas had told her it would.

‘Perhaps we should retire inside. Do some work over a flagon of hippocras?’ he suggested.

‘Yes, we could. What shall we do now, about the Riverlands?’

‘There is not much we can do’, Willas replied. He steered them back to the entrance to the castle.

Sansa briefly let go of his arm, plucking a winter rose and putting it between the buttons of his dapper black damask coat with fur trimmings.

‘Is it alright if I make my rounds through the glass gardens?’ Sansa asked once they reached the hallway.

‘Of course. Will I see you again soon?’

‘It will depend on who I meet, my lord.’

‘Alright, since you’re walking outside anyways, I advise you to visit Spring. Give Cerran my greetings. And perhaps drop by the kennel. We’ve yet to pick out a dog and take it up.’

‘I thought we agreed on Pudding?’ Sansa asked.

‘Ah, so we did’, Willas laughed. ‘I forgot already. You can tell Rollo to take care of it.’

She finally allowed herself to smile widely.

‘This pleases my lady?’

‘Very much’, she decided, pushing herself onto her toes and pressing a kiss to his lips. ‘Thank you, my lord. I’m glad to have her.’

‘Perhaps it will do us all some good to have a happy silly thing around’, he reasoned with a smile.

‘You think Leonette would like her?’

‘She adores dogs. She will. Should I give her one as well? I can imagine she feels quite lonely when she’s in her rooms all by herself.’

‘Perhaps. We shall suggest it’, Sansa agreed.

‘I’ll see you by teatime. And then I want to hear about all the gossip you’ve picked up.’

‘Who says there’ll be gossip?’

‘There is always gossip in Highgarden’, Willas shot.

He pressed his lips to her hand as a final goodbye.

‘You want me to keep you company as you do the stairs. We can still talk for a while then?’ Sansa offered.

‘No no. You go. The sooner you’re gone, the sooner you’ll be back.’

‘My lord husband will miss me?’

‘A lot’, he smirked.

Sansa couldn’t help but steal another kiss then before she left.

The gardens were quiet this time of day. They were only a month old, so they were still growing. Only the trees that had fruit on them when they were moved inside already bore fruit. But that was to be expected. She did find some of the old women who’d helped build the glass gardens and greeted them kindly, accepting their congratulations for her wedding. It made her smile with glee when they said she and Willas had looked very handsome and happy. At least to her face, nobody commented on how close the wedding was to the funeral of his brothers. She passed the kennel, explaining they wanted Pudding as an indoor dog and whether he could already try and spot some docile cuddly dogs that might suit a young noble woman.

Spring had grown a lot since she last saw her. She looked very energetic, and even annoyed. Apparently it had been some time since she’d been out. Cerran asked her whether she would like to let out the horse for a walk. Sansa, never having done such a thing before, blushed and stammered her excuse. But apparently excuses weren’t taken as no’s in Highgarden, so instead she found herself walking with the horse through the gardens, she holding one pair of reins in one hand, and Cerran holding another on the other side. He explained to her how she had at first struggled against her training, but was now growing accustomed to having a bridle put on. He explained things about the way she walked and moved. All new things to Sansa. She had little to attribute, so she just smiled and nodded.

She re-entered the castle through the kitchens, finding Ella who was just about to deliver Lady Alerie her early lunch. Sansa greeted her and decided to accompany her upstairs.

‘So is married life to your liking, my lady?’

‘Please, Sansa’, she encouraged. ‘It seems wrong after I’ve worked with you.’

‘I can call you Lady Sansa? Otherwise I’ll make a habit out of calling you that and then I’ll get my ass kicked for being impertinent.’

That was reasonable. Sansa nodded.

‘It suits me very well. Lord Willas is very kind.’

‘Haven’t heard anything shattering since we returned either’, Ella’s smile quickly turned into a look of fear. ‘Oh dear. Forgive me. I shouldn’t say such things. You’re his wife now. Oh heavens, the things we said.’

‘It’s fine. I gave him something to throw he couldn’t break’, Sansa supplied. ‘But that’s strictly confidential. If I hear you leaked that, I could have you severely punished.’

‘My lips are sealed’, Ella promised, face pale.

Sansa meant it in good humour and happily continued the conversation. However she did remember Olenna’s words from back in King’s Landing. There were spiders amongst the flowers. She doubted Alerie would keep Ella around if she couldn’t be trusted, but Sansa considered it wise not to tell anyone else about it, and wait to see if the rumour popped up elsewhere.

They parted at the second floor, Sansa moving up to the third and Ella continuing to Alerie’s chambers.

‘Have a nice day. And give Lady Alerie my regards.’

‘I will, Lady Sansa’, Ella promised.

She found Willas bowed over his large desk, his head supported by both hands.

The fire was crackling pleasantly, and a flagon of hippocras was indeed close to him.

Her lord.

‘I decided to come back by lunch, instead of tea time’, Sansa announced.

Willas looked up, giving her a tired smile. She perfectly understood. She’d been energized, moving and talking while he was again hunched over stacks of joyless letters.

‘Good. Lunch will be up in half an hour, normally.

He pushed back the chair in front of him on the other side of his desk. The chair where she usually sat. It was more practical to keep separate desks, but she found it comforting to sit across of him.

She accepted the invitation and sat down.

‘I found another letter you might be interested in’, he announced, rummaging between unfolded parchment and rolls.

‘Ah, here it is’, he declared, handing it to her.

Ugly handwriting spelled out Sansa’s new name. She couldn’t help but smile. It still made her feel giddy. She had never felt as much Stark as when they took away her last name and replaced it with Lannister. Never before had she so strongly identified with the North and wanted her own name back. But she was fine with the change now. Perfectly fine even. Sansa Tyrell was an esteemed and loved lady, well protected. And her new family found her old surname and northern heritage a benefit instead of a shameful taint on their family tree.

‘You know, in the greenhouse, an old woman told me how she was glad to see that even though your bride came from afar, she was still from the lineage of Garth Greenhand’, Sansa smiled. ‘She believes Brandon of the Bloody Blade was the ancestor of Brandon the Builder and House Stark. Since they share the same name and one comes from a magical father and the other accomplished superhuman feats. She believes it is very nice that you have kept up with Tyrell tradition and married a descendant.’

‘Him being the founding father of House Stark is about as likely as the Lannisters shitting gold but I suppose if it aids our reputation it is a harmless thing to believe in’, he smiled.

‘Yes, I think it’s cute. But I also feel like we deserve some credit. We’re not great because we’re from a magical ancestor in the South. The North has magic and powerful men with grit too.’

‘I once thought it was all nonsense, but ever since Oldtown I do wonder what is truth and what is fiction. Especially concerning the early history of our regions. Why can’t the Wall be laced with magic or Garth Greenhand actually have something of magic in his blood?’

‘I’ve thought about that too’, Sansa admitted before opening the letter. Willas had already read it, the seal was broken, but she didn’t mind.

Her eyes fell on the name at the bottom. Lord Yohn Royce. He’d answered her letter.

_“Lady Sansa Stark – Tyrell,_

_Thank you for writing to me. It could not have come at a better time. It has been a while since you left the Vale, so I will try to explain what is happening._

_After the meeting with Lord Baelish concerning the fostering of Robert Arryn we started working towards putting Lord Baelish on trial. All these months, we have been collecting evidence and testimonies. We needed yours since you were the only one present beside Littlefinger and that singer during Lady Lysa’s murder, but alas, you had disappeared without a trace._

_I recognized you from Winterfell, too much like your mother and aunt you look. I could not use your presence as proof to accuse Lord Baelish of treason, as that would endanger you. You know I was the sole person demanding we support your brother King Robb. I have deep sympathies for the Starks, as fellow blood of the First Men, upholding the ancient principles, religion and customs._

_We have by now built a case accusing him of fraud, bribery, attempted murder, being an accomplice to murder and poisoning. We have accounts of bribery, and the singer’s testimony. Lady Waynwood has also managed to convince Lady Myranda to leak information about Marillion and Lord Baelish. We also have a shoe we found near the drop underneath the gates of moon, presumably yours. The singer’s account alone isn’t enough. Yours could be enough to confirm how Lady Lysa died. The old maester also gave an account of the milk of poppy and dreamwine use of Lord Robin. Could you confirm his story through testimony? Being present is of course, it being winter, impossible. So by raven will do. Send us your testimonies on everything you have on Lord Baelish. Include a seal, a lock of your hair, anything that might show us that you are who you claim to be. The testimony will then only be opened in front of the court. And in case he weasels out by a trial-by-combat, fret not. No sellsword can beat my boy or me._

_Justice will be delivered._

_Yours_

_Lord Yohn Royce.”_

Petyr had believed Yohn Royce would be the only member of the Lords Declarant remaining opposed to his plans after he had received a year long delay. He had underestimated the resentment of the lords of the Vale.

She bit her lip, looking up at Willas. He was already looking at her with a smile on his lips.

‘It is a good day.’

‘It is’, Sansa smiled.

‘Perhaps we should push our luck just a bit more’, he suggested, eyes shimmering.

Blood rushed to her face.

‘They’ll be delivering lunch soon.’

‘Perfect. It will energize us.’

‘You are insatiable, my lord.’

‘I’m just a poor foot soldier, following orders from my superiors’, he smirked.

Right at that time, a servant tapped on the door, bringing in the food.

A regular foot soldier would kill to get his kind of tasks and work environment. But Sansa merely smiled.

‘A heavy burden, those orders.’

‘I’ll bear it with dignity and grace’, he decided.

They moved away their papers and thanked the servant for placing their plates in front of them. Zucchini soup, roasted pumpkin with crumbled cheese and fresh bread tickled Sansa’s nostrils.

‘Could you bring up a fruit platter as well?’ Willas asked the servant.

‘Now?’

‘No, say in an hour’s time? Maybe two?’ Willas suggested.

‘Yes m’lord, I will do so.’

‘Good, thank you. You may leave.’

‘I’m sure the fruit will be a nice reward after writing those long letters to Lord Royce’, Sansa smiled.

‘You will do nothing of the sort before that fruit comes.’

‘Is that an order?’ Sansa asked.

‘What if it is?’

Her stomach fluttered.

‘I would only point out that it is easier to keep my legs up on a bed than here.’

‘Hmm, good point. Luckily my room isn’t far.’

‘Your room?’

‘Our room. My apologies.’

‘I might forgive you.’

‘If?’

Sansa tried raising her eyebrows in the same provocative way he sometimes did, but only ended up laughing until her belly hurt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sad to have Olenna go, but plot's gotta plot. 
> 
> I'm entering my exam period. Unfortunately, despite that I only have three, they're all very close to one another in date, and all at the beginning of January. After which I have two important deadlines. So you probably won't see many updates until after January 14th at least. So in case this is the last one: happy holidays and may the next year suck a little less than the previous one. 
> 
> Also: in case you're in need of some easy fluff about Sansa and Willas, I suggest you check out 'The Highgarden Holiday'. Writing chapters for that one doesn't absorb as much time and thought as this one. 
> 
> Much love


	26. The Fall of the Mockingbird

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My exams are over! Happy New Year, I wish you all a good health. We're kicking off with a big one.

**Yohn Royce POV**

Bronze Yohn Royce, Lord of Runestone looked upon the thick and tall grey wall of the gatehouse of the Gates of Moon. An expanse of grey stone stretched from one almost vertical mountain slope to the other. From the embrasures a soldier cried who had come up, as if by now the news of his party arriving through the lower gates and waycastles had not yet reached them.

After the announcement they were let in. in the central courtyard of the great grey castle, his cousin Nestor was already awaiting him.

‘Nestor, my liege and friend!’ Yohn cried, jumping of his horse.

‘I did not expect to see you so soon.’

‘Yes, I was very fortunate for all the help I have gotten to fasten my return. I am glad I made it here before the snow grew too tall.’

‘Yes, I am very curious to hear what you found’, Nestor smirked.

‘A lot of good. Hence why my party is so… extended.’

His company had not been previously introduced or announced by either letter or word of mouth, he judged it safest. He didn’t want the upstart rat to expect what was coming for him. He could be given no time to prepare, or he would find a way to weasel out of it. Nestor looked at Benedar Belmore, Gilwood Hunter, Horton Redfort, Symond Templeton, Anya Waynwood and three other minor nobles descend from their horses. Their men had not been carrying their coat of arms so they could slip detection.

‘I see’, Nestor smirked.

‘May I also give you my congratulations? I am sorry I could not attend the wedding of your dear Myranda.’

‘Few could, it was a bit hasty. Bad for the chap but it was her second wedding, didn’t see the need for the fuss. Let’s go inside to continue our conversation. It’s bloody freezing.’

‘Ha! Isn’t it always in winter?’

‘Yes but summer has lasted so long some of my furs have started deteriorating. I’ve ordered some more, but I heard the foxes, minxes, shadowcats and bears have gone down in number due to the high demand for furs. I can only hope there’ll be enough furs to arm everyone with good coats. It’ll be a hard winter, I bet.’

‘Aye, you can feel it in the air.’

They stomped the snow off their feet on the iron grid at the entrance of the hall.

‘We have little time before I have to make my presence known to him’, Yohn announced.

‘And I do not doubt he will be aware of your company very soon. He will know something is coming.’

‘A lot of brain in only a little man. But he cannot sweettalk his way out of this.’

‘Are you sure? The King’s Peace says that disputes between great houses – ‘

‘Ah, but there it is! The exact wording of that law is what will allow us to do this.’

Nestor Royce looked around the hall, watching incoming knights with snow on their cloaks and blushing female servants skip up the stairs with wood to prepare bedchambers.

‘We have no time to walk to my quarters. There is a storage closet nearby. There at least, we can be overheard by no one.’

‘The last time I visited a storage closet I was still a lad, and it was for far more pleasant business’, Yohn sighed.

‘You do not consider our plan pleasant?’ Nestor smirked.

‘An other way of pleasant’, Yohn laughed, clapping his cousin on the shoulder.

‘Lead the way!’

They tried to be as inconspicuous as two six feet tall broad men could be as they walked into a side corridor and then down another corridor before sneaking into the room with a torch.

The closet was five foot and filled with cleaning substances.

One bald cousin looked onto a very hairy cousin, both their faces lined with decades of worries for the Vale they both served.

‘You said you could not write about your sources.’

‘I have written testimonies of Sansa Stark.’

‘Lady Sansa contacted you?’

‘She did. She tried to wrench herself loose from Littlefinger as soon as she left the Vale. And succeeded. Now her testimony will help us to free ourselves from his influence.’

‘I never understood why he went so far with his bastard daughter charade, and let his most powerful hostage escape. He was not fooling anyone when he introduced her as his daughter’, Nestor said.

Yohn Royce nodded.

‘I shall be very brief. We can accuse him of the murder of his spouse and with the murder of his liege lady. When she made him Lord Protector he effectively became one of the subjects of the Lord of the Vale. And through marriage, he became a resident of the Vale. Meaning he effectively owed fealty to Lady Lysa, who was at the time his liege lady. The crime happened in the Vale. I mean to use these circumstances to have him tried as a resident of the Vale murdering his liege, making it a conflict between a subject and a liege lord.’

‘And the Law allows for this?’ Nestor asked. ‘I always feared, with him also being the Lord Paramount of the Trident, he would call upon his titles to either claim he is not a subject of the Vale or brush it off as a dispute between two great houses meaning it would not be our jurisdiction.’

‘The King’s Peace says: “All crime is dealt with as locally as possible. Violations of the law and disputes by and between subjects of a region need to be settled by the local liege lord presiding over that region. Their judgement needs to be abided. Disputes between great houses, due to their nature, have a large effect on the politics of the Seven Kingdoms and thus fall under the jurisdiction of the Crown.”’, Bronze Yohn repeated.

‘If we take that literally we are trying to deal with this problem as locally as possible. And right here, in the Gates of Moon, you are the head of law. You are the local liege lord. The law says the local liege lord presiding over the region has jurisdiction, not the highest liege lord present. That would be Baelish. Secondly this trial is about violations of the law by a subject of the Vale, not a dispute between great houses. Through his marriage and his function he is a subject of the Vale and thus subject to local jurisdiction. A dispute is when two houses are disagreeing. This is not a disagreement, this is murder, treason, theft and bribery.’

‘I am listening’, Nestor said, rubbing his beard.

‘You still have the singer?’

‘Yes, my Myranda seduced him before Baelish’ men mutilated him and got him to write and sign an account of what went down, in case he was killed. But it is not necessary. We managed to smuggle him out. He’s in my cells. We promised him freedom if he stopped singing. If Baelish heard a whiff about music in the cells, we’d hang.’

Yohn nodded. ‘Good, and you still have the slipper you found beneath the Moon Door near Lysa’s body?’

‘Aye, I do.’

‘Good. So we have two accounts of him killing Lysa. And both confirm Lysa said Baelish had given her the task to kill her husband and provided the poison. We have him for both the murder of our old lord and his lady. Lastly, Lady Sansa has testified he is deliberately keeping Lord Robin frail. And Lady Waynwood will also confess Littlefinger made wedding plans for Lady Sansa and Hardyng as if Lord Robin would die. That’s two lord paramount murders.’

‘Secondly Corbray has the receipts of the money he received from Lord Baelish for the drawing of his sword of our last gathering, and is ready to testify. He will tell how Baelish used his family’s need for money to bribe him financially and help him marry a very wealthy merchant daughter to ensure his loyalty. Belmore pretended to be friends with Baelish and joined the wedding party in hopes of gaining more intelligence. He did. Baelish rewarded Ser Marwyn Belmore with the function of captain of the guard. Belmore can also account that Lord Baelish is deliberately waiting for a higher demand for food so they can up the prices. I brought some three minor lords as well who are also ready to confess to being bribed.’

‘Good.’

‘He has also brought the accounts of all the extra grain he shipped to Lord Baelish. If the grain is not accounted for in Baelish’ ledgers, he’s swindling.’

‘Good. And have all lords brought along with them their ledgers accounting for all the financial and material taxes they have given Baelish?’

‘Yes. Have you managed to convince the treasurer to show Baelish’s ledgers?’

‘Yes. He’s more than ready to throw him out the moon door. He’s as tired as a night watch member is cold from constantly copying, readjusting and fumbling around with accounts that don’t add up due to Littlefinger’s lying, secret storages and false money accounts. It is certain he pretends the Vale is worth less than it is so he can pay lower taxes to the crown. Meanwhile he still charges us the same taxes. Meaning a lot of coin and grain is going straight to his pockets. He’s stealing from the crown, that’s capital theft and punishable with death.’

‘Three crimes with the death penalty, and plenty of proof for all’, Nestor nodded.

‘Good job looking for a way out of the King’s Peace.’

‘You can count on me’, Yohn said. ‘Now let’s go and get this show started, before he steals it and crowns himself ringmaster.’

Nestor looked out of the cupboard and left, Yohn following right behind.

‘So, tell me. Myranda and Hardyng. Are they expecting yet?’

‘You know we planned to have them married before Littlefinger came in and started tempting Lady Waynwood with promises of uniting the North and the Vale into one. With the war in the Riverlands and our family dying there, we decided to marry them to ensure potential for them to claim some titles. Mind at this point we still feared Baelish would drag the Stark girl back and marry her to him. It was a rushed business, they had some five days before he left for the riverlands. It’s still too early to tell if those five days have borne fruit. But five days is not a lot of time.’

‘It is not’, Yohn agreed. ‘War’s a bad time. Entire dynasties can die. Every heir is welcome now, even female ones.’

‘Stark and Tyrell did well to marry. The sooner the better. The Starks are all dead, unless we count that so called Arya who magically appeared and married Bolton’s bastard. And the Tyrells are threatened with extinction now that the younger two are dead before they produced offspring. Both their families are in desperate need of some sons. Winter and war kill men faster than women can produce them.’

‘Aye. I’m keeping Andar close now. I lost two sons in a year. Can’t spare him anymore. The lad’s annoyed he can’t make name and fame for himself by fighting but I can’t risk having my sole heir die. I’m also on the lookout for brides for him. Belmore has a girl, I’m tempted to suggest it. Belmore made it clear he wants something for his work.’

They arrived at the banquet hall.

The other lords declarant had shrugged off their coats, and were seated at the table of honour, drinking wine and breaking the bread. Everyone had grown very superstitious ever since the Frey betrayal, insisting on the old traditions to be visibly performed.

‘So, will we immediately arrest him?’ whispered Lord Nestor.

‘We can try.’

Yohn quickly snatched some bread, sprinkling it with salt before shoving it down his throat. He’d barely swallowed it before the peacock appeared in the doorway.

Yohn would be lying if he said his hands weren’t shaking with excitement. Finally. Revenge.

‘My friends, I received word of your arrival. Excuse me lateness, I was still wrapping up some paperwork since your visit was unannounced. But we always open our doors to our faithful lords, do we not, Lord Nestor?’ Baelish smiled.

Even his stupid whiskers smiled, curling upwards on the sides of his mouth, Yohn thought.

‘I am afraid this is not a social visit, Lord Baelish’, Yohn said with all sober solemnity the case deserved. He made sure his booming voice was loud enough for the entire hall to hear.

All conversation quieted down.

Lord Baelish looked at the table, his lips thinning when he noticed exactly who was sitting at the table. It was clear he had not been made aware that all Lords Declarent had made the trip.

‘You are many. I did not expect such a grand company again so soon.’

‘We were all resigned to staying home and taking care of our local people until winter had passed, but word of a horrible breach of the law urged us to come here and report our worries to the local liege lord.’

‘Ah, serious matters. A less entertaining but equally good reason for a visit. Perhaps we could discuss these concerns over dinner?’ he suggested smoothly, eyes calm as ever.

‘Actually, Lord Baelish, that would not work. See, The King’s Peace dictates that crimes need to be dealt with as locally as possible, the trial of a criminal overseen by the local liege lord presiding over that region. The presiding lord in the Gates of Moon is Nestor Royce, not you.’

Lord Baelish gave nothing away except for a slight crease of his brow.

‘Lord Baelish, you stand accused of the murder of Lord Robert Arryn and Lady Lysa Arryn, the poisoning of young Lord Robin, high treason through tax crime, bribery and swindling’, Lord Yohn declared.

His voice boomed off the thick stone walls and ceiling, the carpets hanging against them failed to absorb his sound.

Gasps and murmuring rose up from around the room.

Lord Baelish’s eyebrows rose before he smiled.

‘My friend, I do not know where you got that from. Never before did I hear such strong gossip.’

‘We have proof, and demand a trial’, Lady Waynwood said, standing up.

‘Even if you managed to find some gossipy fired servants who wanted to slander my good name, that means nothing. According to the King’s Peace, disputes between major noble houses need to be settled by the King. I may come from humble origins but I am Lord of Harrenhal and Lord Paramount of the Riverlands.’

‘Yet by birth, through marriage and through your function as Lord Protector of the Vale you are a subject and inhabitant of the Vale. It is not our fault the Lord Paramount of another kingdom became subject of the Vale. On those grounds you can be treated as a subject of the Vale. The King’s Peace says that only disputes between noble houses are royal jurisdiction. A dispute is a disagreement in need of settlement, not a crime in need of punishment.’

Baelish was turning pale now, taking a step back.

‘But my lord, with all respect, I am Lord Protector of the Vale. The final jurisdiction is mine.’

‘The law says it needs to be resolved as locally as possible. Your domain of law only pertains the Eyrie. Secondly it needs to be resolved as locally as possible, you are Lord Protector of the entire Vale, thus you are not the most local liege lord either.

‘It was my belief a higher lord cannot be the subjected to a trial by a lord beneath him. Just imagine how many liege lords would start being accused of anything if they issued something that displeased their bannermen.’

‘Says who? The law is clear, local liege lord comes first, before the grand liege lord. It is only when the local liege lord cannot solve it, it goes to a higher liege lord.’

Lord Baelish was speechless.

‘It is my duty to enforce the law and investigate the accusations, Lord Yohn, you may deliver me the proof and once I am done with it, we shall hold a trial. Until the claims are looked into I fear I am forced to apprehend you, Lord Baelish. If the claims are true your freedom might threaten the health of our young lord. Once these claims turn out to be unfounded, you may walk freely’, Lord Nestor cut in.

Littlefinger’s cold green eyes narrowed, as it became clear to him Lord Nestor had not been unaware of the plans.

‘Dear Lord Nestor, you understand as the accused party I have the right to defend myself. If I am correct I may choose the form of the trial, like trial by faith or trial by combat.’

Lord Yohn grinned, putting his hand on his scabbard. He was ready to fight, as were many of the knights the other lords declarant had taken with them. Meanwhile Baelish was mostly surrounded by young twigs of knights.

Lord Baelish seemed to realize this.

‘Or a regular trial. _And_ I am also allowed to bring forth evidence and witnesses.’

‘Evidently’, Lord Nestor agreed. ‘You shall have full access to pen and paper to note down all you want to speak to, and all documents you wish to use. I shall make sure the documents and people reach you so you can consult them.’

Yohn smiled. His cousin appeared as the perfect faithful servant, ready to believe both parties.

‘I trust you need not be held?’ Lord Nestor asked of Baelish.

‘No, I’ll just walk with them’, Baelish smiled before shooting the table a last glance. Then he followed three knights out of the hall.

‘Make sure there’s always at least five knights around, of which at least two of ours so we are certain he is not bribing them’, Lord Yohn said.

‘Five? I was thinking along the lines of eight.’

‘My friends, and fellow countrymen, and lady, I suggest we retreat to my solar. It has been a long time since we last saw each other and talked’, Lord Nestor Royce declared.

The nobles nodded and all gathered, going over every piece of evidence, every account and every piece of paper that could be of use, seeing how they could use it, and preparing to defend the proof in case Lord Baelish critiqued it.

A sennight was agreed to organize the trial, find a panel of reliable neutral judges and allow Lord Baelish time to prepare for the charges of tax fraud, bribery and murder.

On the first day the entire morning was spent by Lord Baelish and Lord Yohn Royce going back and forth, in front of all who cared to bear witness, about the legality of Lord Nestor Royce putting Lord Baelish on trial, both citing and interpreting pieces of law.

Based on ancient tradition, after hearing all arguments, it was technically up to Lord Nestor alone to judge in favour or against. However, by his clever invitation of all present lords, ladies and smallfolk he had ensured himself that they could judge the trial for themselves, and defend his decisions if they were ever challenged.

After a lunch break, Lord Nestor returned and unsurprisingly declared he could receive and proceed the accusations.

‘If the dowager queen hears of this, she will not be pleased’, Baelish warned with a smile. ‘I was appointed by the crown as Lord Paramount of the Riverlands. You plan to trial me for crimes punishable with death. You would murder an appointed and appreciated loyal lord paramount of the crown. They will come for you. And bring war to our peaceful Vale we all love.’

‘Queen Cersei has lost virtually all power since her trial. Mace Tyrell rules King’s Landing as regent now. He is a reasonable man and will not send his already depleted armies to the Vale in winter to avenge a man who replaced his good-daughters family in the Riverlands and killed his good-daughter’s aunt and uncle’, Lord Nestor pointed out.

‘Secondly if I sentence you to die, which you need not fear if you are innocent, it is not an attack against the crown. Rather it is a protection of the crown and the law I serve. Men who break the law and steal from the crown are enemies of the crown.’

‘I am innocent as of yet. Until proof is found of the opposite, and you will not find anything that is not based on subjective accounts’, Baelish declared with a little smile. ‘And once I am free, we will see just how happy the crown is with your so called protection of it.’

‘Alright, we will. Enough useless words now. We will open the hearing on the crime of tax fraud, of which Lord Petyr Baelish stands accused. All those who wish to speak in favour of the accusation or bring evidence to show it, raise your hands.’

The hands were raised and all names were noted down in order.

‘All those who wish to speak against the accusation or bring evidence to show the claim is false, raise your hands.’

The hands were raised and all names were noted down in order.

The hearing started.

A septon prayed, beseeching the Father Above to guide them towards justice and all witnesses had to swear to speak the truth in the eye of the gods.

All lords brought forth their ledgers, and then at the end Littlefinger’s treasurer came forth. Baelish’s eyes narrowed when the maester hobbled forward, shoulders bent by the weight of his chains. Then all accounts were given, including the ones of Lord Belmore and Lord Grafton about the event in the cellars. Their accounts clearly confused Littlefinger, who was under the pretence that men, once bought, would remain bought. Lord Yohn smiled lightly underneath his beard. You could always trust an unreliable man to turn with the wind and switch sides when another side was more likely to win.

‘Naturally, you two could have conspired against me to see me displaced as Lord Protector. You have long ago made clear you wanted more power over the Vale yourselves. Secondly, but not less importantly, you cannot blame me for not wanting to be hasty with the selling of our stocks. We are facing a long and hard winter. My people need to be fed first, before we feed the people of other regions. Secondly I owe it to my people to put as much money in the treasury as possible. Despite that I stand accused of stealing from you all and from the crown, which I do not agree with – ‘

Some watchers in the hall started coughing, whispering and laughing. Baelish looked displeased.

‘Despite that, I care deeply for the people of the Vale. I want to leave my stepson, the rightful Lord of the Vale with as much funds as possible. We will need it in winter to buy supplies and help our people. A man cannot be accused of being a wise businessman. There is nothing wrong with that.’

‘Agreed to the last part’, Lord Nestor agreed. ‘However, about them conspiring to gain more power… There is another account…’

Lord Baelish froze.

‘We were alone.’

‘But you were overheard. The testimony, if you please’, Lord Nestor asked, lifting his hand in demand. A servant rushed to him with the unbroken seal of House Highgarden.

‘The account of Sansa Stark, who you brought to the Vale under the guise of your bastard daughter.’

Lord Baelish turned white like a sheet. It was clear he realized that if she had written about that, she would have also written about the murder of Lysa. Bribery and tax fraud he thought himself equipped to deal with, murder accusations with no direct witnesses he did as well. But this worried him. The deck of cards was redistributed.

Naturally, he first tried dispelling Alayne Stone was Sansa Stark, next he tried to question the authenticity of the signature and seals. For all Lord Yohn was prepared. The seal of House Highgarden had been unbroken, and Lord Nestor managed to procure other letters from Highgarden written by Lord Willas and Lord Mace in the year prior with the same seals. Sansa Stark’s letter in which she denounced Robb Stark’s claim to the throne was also still in the archives of the resident maester and the writing matched with the writing of Sansa Stark’s current scrolls.

Lord Baelish presented his sources, gave his interpretation to the ledgers and his constant demands to change them and explained away the disparity between his received taxes and the money paid to the crown.

The following day brought the bribery charges, this took up a whole day and was undoubtedly the most uncomfortable day of the trial, as no witness could be brought forth, except for the testimony of Sansa Stark, without the witness also being involved in the bribe.

Lord Baelish suffered his first setback the moment the witnesses were asked to raise their hands, when less people than expected raised their hands to protect his claim while more hands than expected raised their hands to give proof of Littlefinger’s bribery. Lord Nestor pretended not to notice Lord Baelish’s distress.

Lady Waynwood delicately tried to explain her money troubles and debt but focussed on how easily Baelish waved grand sums of money her way while in return asking for a match between her ward Harold Hardyng and the so called Alayne Stone, stressing he painted the match as one that would decide the fate of the Vale and the North, thus already setting up the hearing of the next day about his murders and attempted murder, because Hardyng could never decide the fate of the Vale if the young Lord Arryn lived.

Then went Lyn Corbray who attested that he was bribed with money and positions for his family. He proved it with his personal accounts on paper. He was not happy but he insisted that he was thinking about the fate of his house. He also pressed that Lord Baelish knew Corbray would remain silent about this crime out of vanity, and made a great show of how he put his family and good name for the greater good.

Last came four fresh witnesses, admitting Lord Baelish had attempted to bribe them to give accounts in his favour, explaining what he wanted them to say, how he wanted them to prove it and what he tried bribing them with.

The only one remaining silent was Nestor, who knew he sat upon a throne of lies, as the Gates of Moon were technically also an Arryn castle and the eternal stewardship his family had been granted was technically illegal. However, he knew how that would look to the people. And decided one crime more or less would not make a difference in how guilty Littlefinger was of bribery.

Then up went Littlefinger, who insisted that the other lords and lady should also be trialled for bribery and punished. He then twisted the story that he wanted to help the lords of the Vale by getting rid of their financial problems so that the Vale could thrive without increased taxes on the people, overall trying to appear as a magnanimous and benevolent ruler. But the people were not convinced of this. That only excused the financial aid, not the setting up of matches, the assuring silences and the rewarding of positions.

On the last day the murder trial took place. And when the singer Marillion, whom all the lords hated but now desperately needed, was brought in, Baelish became silent, as did the people. His presence alone, mutilated by Littlefinger’s men, said more than enough about the pressure placed on him during his confessional.

Marillion’s account was given, the slipper of Sansa Stark was produced, Sansa Stark’s account was given and then both the singer and Sansa Stark’s account spoke of Lysa Arryn’s confessions of being goaded into killing her husband.

‘First of all, it is clear that Lady Tyrell and the singer could be conspiring together to condemn me. Secondly, even if it were true, this story they tell about the murder of Jon Arryn, then I am still not guilty of murder. Lysa Arryn is the murderer of her husband, not I.’

The crowd protested and growled, but only Lord Redfort answered calmly.

‘Why would Lady Tyrell conspire together with the murderer of her aunt to appoint you, who protected her from persecution in King’s Landing and kept her safe here, as you insisted you did?’

Then Lord Baelish changed his tactics, saying he had been protecting Sansa by accusing Marillion and it was in fact Sansa and Lysa who had been struggling together and it was Sansa who had thrown her aunt through the Moon Door, explaining why her slipper had not fallen far from Lysa Arryn’s body. Now Sansa wanted to use this trial to absolve herself of guilt by conspiring with Marillion to accuse Baelish of the crime.

‘Then is it nod odd the lady admitted to struggling with her aunt before you stepped in? A clever murderer would remove themselves entirely out of the narrative’, voiced Lord Redfort.

‘Certainly, but she is also clever enough to know she had to give a reason why her slipper fell through the door’, Baelish decided.

‘If this were true, what motive would then Lady Stark have to kill her aunt? She, her last living relative who agreed to hide her despite that she was a fugitive? Worse, killing her own aunt in front of her doting husband and another witness?’ questioned Lady Waynwood.

‘Why did you not tell the truth directly if she killed your lady wife? Why keep up the story of Marillion being guilty to protect a lady who murdered her aunt and now accuses you of murder?’ Lord Redfort pressed.

To this, lord Baelish had nothing to say.

‘You swore to speak the truth and only the truth during this trial. Lord Baelish, you lied.’

Last up were the maesters, maids, Sansa Stark’s account and a written account of the new Lady Hardyng and the oral account of Mya Stone, all confessing how weak Lord Robin was and how much milk of the poppy and dreamwine he was given.

And lastly Lord Robin himself came in, the boy had only recently turned eight and still looked as frail as ever as he was lead in by the septon who had watched over him together with Mya and the maester the past week.

Lord Nestor announced the boy had been without medicine for a week, and continued to question the maester, Mya and the small lord Arryn himself about how the past week had been. It had been a struggle, and the young lord complained he had not felt very well at first, but felt better by the end of the week and could even walk down the stairs to the hall himself, which he hadn’t been able to before. The whole time Mya Stone held his hand and encouraged him to talk. He did question, however, why he was not allowed to see Lord Baelish that week, clearly oblivious by all that had been going on. 

‘They have deemed me to be a danger to you. They want to punish me’, Lord Baelish said, face etched with regret and sadness. ‘He cannot make me fly but he will try to do something similar.’

‘Punish? Why?’ the boy asked, starting to struggle in Mya’s arms.

‘But I am the lord!’ the boy protested. ‘I choose when people fly! You said I can decide when people fly!’

Mya gave up and let him go, running to Littlefinger. He hugged his leg. Lord Nestor allowed the theatrics for five minutes, as this was their lord.

Little lord Arryn had a point when he said he was the lord of the Vale, luckily the petulant childish way in which he delivered it and flaunted his power to choose between life and dead, followed by the hugging, underlined precisely why the little lord could not possibly have a vote. The crowd watched with growing pity, worry, fear and disbelief how the boy clung to Littlefinger with full trust after all his helpers had just recounted how Baelish had decided on feeding the young lord so much dreamwine and milk of the poppy that the boy’s health was declining.

‘All accusations have been dealt with. All testimonies have been heard. All sources have been addressed. The jury will now retreat to discuss the charges and decide upon a final judgement. We reconvene tomorrow morning at nine’, Lord Nestor decided.

At nine the next morning, the world was still dark. Now winter had come, the hours of light were decreasing. The great hall was eerily quiet when Lord Baelish stepped in, a true feat given it was filled with over two hundred faces.

In the front of the hall, beneath stained glass panels of the falcon kings of times long past, sat the seven judges and Lord Nestor, who presided over them. He was dressed in his house colours, wearing a heavy purple cloak trimmed with white fur over a bronze coloured jerkin with runic motives. But Lord Baelish too, had arrived in battle gear, wearing a very decorative colourful costume that screamed opulence and importance.

‘Lord Baelish, the jury has gathered and debated until deep into the night, and reached a conclusion’, Lord Nestor announced.

‘On the charge of tax crimes and swindling, you are considered… guilty. The stealing of money from our one true King Tommen is considered treason, the punishment of which is death.’

‘On the charge of bribery of over ten people, which is common practice but therefor no less illegal, you stand guilty. The punishment of this crime is usually fiscal of nature combined with imprisonment.’

‘Finally, on the charges of murder. You have been found guilty of conspiracy to murder of the Lord Paramount of the Vale Jon Arryn. You are also deemed to be an accomplice in the murder of the Lord Paramount of the Vale Jon Arryn. You are deemed guilty of the direct and deliberate murder of the Lady of the Vale Lysa Arryn. And you are deemed guilty of the deliberate sickening of the present Lord Paramount of the Vale Robert Arryn.’

Lord Baelish remained silent.

Yohn Royce delighted in the silence of the wordy man, rubbing his beard with pleasure. He had feared the common people within the jury would have feared Littlefinger’s threat of the crown’s army more than they did having Littlefinger for a ruler. A farmer, a valet, the head of the stables, a minor local noble, a noble of Lady Waynwood’s household and the local septon had all sat on the jury and their opinion, he knew, had been unanimous.

‘Lord Baelish, you stand guilty of treason of the highest degree to the crown and the leadership of the Vale. The punishment of which, for each crime, has been deemed death’, Lord Nestor said, voice grave and thundering.

‘However, given the impracticality of two death sentences and a decade of imprisonment, it has been reduced to a single death sentence, which will be executed by sword at noon. And for lying during your trial you will get a nail driven through each hand, pinning you to the gate.’

This was the only regrettable part of the proceedings. Yohn’s hands ached to swing the blade, to have his bones shudder as the iron snapped his neck. Alas, his cousin was as much of the belief that the one delivering the sentence had to swing the sword.

He would just have to derive as much satisfaction as possible from seeing his smug little face roll through the dust and muddy snow.

‘You cannot do this. I am the Lord Paramount of the Trident’, Baelish seethed, finally breaking his silence.

‘You are a citizen of the seven kingdoms who committed high treason and destabilized the realm by murdering another lord paramount. I believe the king will follow my judgement’, Lord Nestor said, quite blasé. ‘And if he doesn’t, I sure wish him luck taking the Vale in winter while another king is conquering the southern kingdoms.’

‘This was not a fair trial. The evidence was biased.’

The septon of the jury rose. ‘Numbers do not lie, my lord. All lords their ledgers added up except yours, and your own treasurer explained why that was so. And the reason was treason. And all witnesses stood united against you, despite having no reason to bond together. We do not accept the questioning of the jury, it has been composed of people who knew nothing of the entire affair and looked upon the accusations with fresh unbiased eyes.’

Baelish shook his head.

‘Lord Robert will not enjoy hearing his step-father is sentenced to death.’

‘We, however, will be pleased that _our_ lord will live to be upset instead of die at your hands’, Lord Nestor said.

‘I climbed my way up from nothing. And as I climbed I saw nothing but lords like you lie and deceive and forsake codes of honour and lies. All of you, all!’ Baelish said, pointing his finger at the lady and lords gathered. ‘You are just as guilty of bribery as I am. And you’re probably just as guilty of clearing away people who stood in your way. You at least are, Lord Gilwood. Nobody believed your father’s so called sudden death.’

He was taking everyone down with him, destabilizing the Vale, Yohn realized.

‘If you accuse me you need to dispatch of most of your local lords as well, keep that anger and feed it. It has a lot to feed upon’, Baelish said.

‘We are not murderers’, Lady Waynwood cried.

‘But your debt would have perhaps caused taxes so high your people would have starved. And is that not death?’ Baelish questioned.

 _Stop, for the love of the old gods, do not give him anymore to talk about,_ Yohn prayed.

‘Alright’, Lord Yohn decided, standing up. ‘We will not allow a convicted criminal to destabilize the Vale by shouting unfounded claims. You have done enough damage. I shall return you to your cell until it is time.’

He marched over, looking for the approval of Lord Nestor, before dragging Baelish along with some guards.

‘This was your doing. Yours. I should have known’, Baelish decided.

‘So it was. I told you not all of us were fooled. I collected all who shared my feelings and it worked out well, did it not? You smelled like a thousand rotten secrets anyway, your mint breath fooled no one. We found them’, Yohn shrugged as Baelish was placed back in his cell.

‘You barely found a thing. But then I cannot be surprised, you bunch are stupid. You have no clue of half of the secrets of this realm, of King’s landing. I suppose I must applaud you, a bunch of dumb nobles half of which can’t read, a crappy singer and a girl of six-and-ten bested me. Me. I had not expect it. But still you did not find out what I did. You’re too stupid to find the rest.’

His fast-approaching death was making him loose lipped. And he knew no amount of begging or bribing would work on Yohn.

‘No matter, I found enough. And now you may die in the knowledge you’ve been bested by some stupid people, a singer and a girl of six-and-ten’, Yohn smirked.

‘I’d say I were sorry, but nothing would bring me more joy than seeing your head roll through the mud with your body rotting nailed to the gates.’

‘You have no idea what’s in store. There is not a person in all of the Vale equipped to handle the storm that’s coming’, Baelish warned.

‘Yeah well, we’ll see about that. Or rather, I’ll see about that. Since you’ll be just a bunch of bones by then. Enjoy your last few hours, Littlefinger.’

At noon Bronze Yohn Royce offered his sword to his cousin for the occasion, and smiled as Baelish was dragged out. With rotten cabbage sticking to his clothes and tomato and eggs spread out on his head, Lord Petyr Baelish, most dangerous and clever player of the game of thrones, sat down in front of the chopping block and lost his head. It did not thunder, it did not snow, no crows cried and the earth did not shake when with two strong hacks his head was detached from his body. In death, Westeros’ most dangerous man was no different than any other.

Three days later Yohn Royce left, looking back at the rotting corpse nailed to the Gates of Moon for as long as he could.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not a lot is known about justice in Westeros aside from "trial by combat, trial by faith" and so on. The King's Peace was an important one and the basis on which the jurisdiction was decided. So that's why such a long time was spent debating it (I might just have been influenced by certain impeachment procedures with all the legal back and forth about the interpretation of articles lol).
> 
> On execution asoiaf says that the most severe crimes are punishable by death. Treasoners can be put to death by beheading, either with an axe or a sword, hanging, or by placing the criminals in a so-called crow cages. At least those are the methods used in the books until now.
> 
> The nail pinning too found its origins in the books. In 300 AC, when a sailor stabbed an archer through the hand when accusing the sailor of cheating at dice, the archer laid his case in front of Lord Randyll Tarly. Although he at first denied the charges, he later admitted he had been cheating at dice. For cheating, considered theft, a finger was amputated. For lying, a nail was driven through the other hand. I found it a funny anecdote so I decided to make it a standard thing for liars just like domestic abusers got the cartilage of their noses sliced :)
> 
> Hope you enjoyed!


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